


The Tool of Knowledge

by BackyardPodcast



Series: A World of Lucky Spots [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Both them/them and she/her pronouns for Tikki, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Future Fic, Gen, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Miraculous Ladybug Next Generation, Next Gen, Original Characters - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alya Césaire, Rating for slight language, The new Chat Noir isn't who you think, The previous gen all know each other's identities, Trans Female Character, as in the next gen and the kids, i have been WAITING to add that tag, no beta we die like men, post identity reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BackyardPodcast/pseuds/BackyardPodcast
Summary: The Age of Superheroes was supposed to be over. When Ladybug and Chat Noir and Rena Rouge and all the other good Miraculous holders had defeated Hawkmoth and Mayura, it was supposed to be done. They gave a formal farewell to the press, handed their Miraculouses over to Ladybug, and that. Was. It. Only Marinette and Adrien still wore theirs; the rest were locked up, including the Butterfly Miraculous.But of course, it couldn’t be that simple, and with the return of super villains came the return of their counterpart. While directing those around her through the old civilian protocol for akuma attacks (man, she was rusty), Alya saw Ladybug’s spotted costume in the distance. It wasn’t until she ushered the last person indoors that she noticed the change in apparel, her short blonde hair, and remembered that Marinette was on a work trip.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Alya Césaire & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Nino Lahiffe, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe
Series: A World of Lucky Spots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779409
Comments: 196
Kudos: 156





	1. Many Years Later

When the first akumatized villain appeared, Alya thought she was hallucinating. A dark purple butterfly flitted through the supermarket, and before she could think, “Funny, that kind of looks like an akuma,” a pink woman threw a diaper stink bomb at her head. 

The Age of Superheroes was supposed to be over. When Ladybug and Chat Noir and Rena Rouge and all the other good Miraculous holders had defeated Hawkmoth and Mayura, it was supposed to be done. They gave a formal farewell to the press, handed their Miraculouses over to Ladybug, and that. Was. It. Only Marinette and Adrien still wore theirs; the rest were locked up, including the Butterfly Miraculous.

But of course, it couldn’t be that simple, and with the return of super villains came the return of their counterpart. While directing those around her through the old civilian protocol for akuma attacks (man, she was rusty), Alya saw Ladybug’s spotted costume in the distance. It wasn’t until she ushered the last person indoors that she noticed the change in apparel, her short blonde hair, and remembered that Marinette was on a work trip.

That night, when watching the news, Alya thought she had died, and her final brain synapses had generated a fever dream. Amatuer photos and videos of a new Ladybug and Chat Noir flickered across her TV screen as she leaned into Nino’s side. The superheroes were two teenage girls in updated costumes. Ladybug had, as she previously noticed, short blonde hair and a petite frame; she looked nothing like her predecessor. Chat Noir on the other hand… she looked almost exactly like a young Marinette. Her exceedingly long hair and green eyes did nothing to draw away from her face shape and hair color and how much she resembled the old Ladybug. Maybe someone who didn’t personally know the superhero wouldn’t notice, but to Alya, the similarity blared in her face like an airhorn.

“I’m not the only one thinking that the new Chat Noir looks a lot like Emma, right?” Nino broke the silence of the living room.

“Oh thank God, literally the only difference is the eyes.”

He paused and looked at her out of the corner of his eye, nervous. “Do you think anyone else has figured it out?”

Alya hummed. “No one who hasn’t been a Miraculous holder. Miraculous identity magic and all that.”

A beat of silence. Then she continued, “So who is this Ladybug? One of Adrien’s students?”

“Probably?” he answered. “It’d make sense for Adrien to hand it off to a kid he knows. But…”

“Why hand it off,” she finished. 

“Yeah.”

Alya took out her phone and dialed a number. It rang. And rang. And rang. And ran- “ _ This is Marinette! I can’t take your call right now, but if you leave a message, I will do my best to get back to you and not accidentally delete it. _ ”

Nino sighed. “My guess is we’re not the only one trying to get on the line.”

“They have until I get off work tomorrow. Then, I track them down personally and demand answers.”

“That’s my girl,” he replied, running his finger through her hair. “Report back on anything you figure out, yeah?”

“Who else would I tell about it?”

When her boss asked who wanted to take the Miraculous story the next day, Alya knew that it was  _ her _ story. Her hand shot up like a whip.

"Look who's going back to her Ladyblog days," Sofie, her coworker, joked back at their desks.

Alya smiled. "What can I say, it's my original passion project."

First came pulling up said passion project and reviewing all her knowns. There was some information that Rena Rouge would know but Alya Césaire wouldn't. Mixing up those data piles would be dire.

The existence of kwamis was allowed. Appearances of kwamis? Vague descriptions from Mme. Mendeleev’s akumatization, but no specifics. And no names. Overall, not much was known about them, just that they were part of the Miraculouses. Mention their presence, end there.

The history of the Miraculouses was much more interesting, as it was all public information. Back in the day, Alya had hardcore researched it, from Hercules to La Mariquita. It had allowed her to release more articles when her Rena Rouge activities prevented her other reports.

Overall mechanics? Check. Upgrades and gained abilities of Chat Noir and Ladybug? Check. Superhero designs and appearances? Check. The final battle with Hawkmoth? 

Hmmm.

It seemed that one would require more research. She would need to look through the archives for what official reports contained.

Alya remembered the fight. How the Agreste mansion had been rubble until Ladybug had thrown her Lucky Charm into the air. How when Chat Noir had pulled the Butterfly Miraculous from Hawkmoth’s chest, the latter transformed to reveal… How they had all suspected the truth, even Adrien, but none of them had ever said anything. 

How the location should’ve been the nail in the coffin, but they had all still hoped.

How Adrien was then an orphan, even if his father still breathed. 

How the investigation for the court trial had been invasive, public, and accusatory. How anyone who had ever spoken to Gabriel Agreste was interrogated. How he and Nathalie had been locked up in prison with no hope of parole. How even after everything he put them all through, Adrien still loved his father and mourned for weeks after his capture--

Alya would need to research the official story some more.

At exactly 5:37pm, with no new texts from Marinette or Adrien, Alya cruised into the Agreste household. She’d had a key for years and knew that she wasn’t unexpected. They knew her well enough to know that she’d be coming.

Alya walked into the dining room to find a sixth spot at the table set. Unless one of their kids had invited a friend over to eat, they were more prepared than even she had predicted. “Hey, Alya.” Adrien waved. “Nino let us know that you would be joining us for supper.”

Alya held up a Tupperware container. “I brought cookies.”

They made their way through dinner carefully, keeping conversation light and airy, avoiding anything super-related. Unusual. Adrien and Marinette had a policy about keeping Emma, Hugo, and Louise in the loop about their thoughts on superheroes once they had all reached twelve. ( _ “It’s more dangerous to keep secrets than it is to be open about it,” Marinette had reasoned. _ ) They’d learned much about the dangers of secrets between family over the years.

So it was unusual, unless Marinette and Adrien suspected Emma to be Chat Noir as well and wanted to talk to Alya one-on-one before she said something that would contradict their approach with their daughter. 

Dinner finished, and the parents excused their children from the table. After they left, Adrien and Marinette closed the doors to the dining room and sat once more near Alya.

“We know you have questions,” Marinette said. “We’ll try our best to answer them, but I can’t guarantee that we have all the answers.”

“I’ve figured out most of it, I think.” Alya looked at the people sitting across from her. They appeared so  _ worried _ , and she couldn’t imagine why. As if she and the rest of the previous Miraculous holders wouldn’t follow them and their crazy ideas to the end of Earth. If they believed that handing off the Miraculouses was the right course of action, Alya would defend it to her last breath, even if she didn’t understand. 

Of course, she was still Alya Césaire, and knowledge was the most valuable tool on Earth. She wanted to understand. “I just don’t know  _ why _ you would hand off the Ladybug and Cat Miraculouses. Especially to your own daughter? That feels really obvious identity-wise, and it’s a serious risk considering we don’t know if the new Butterfly Miraculous holder is a previous one.”

Adrien took a deep breath, as if preparing for something painful. “We didn’t mean to hand off the Miraculouses.”

“WHAT?!”

He winced. “Please quiet down, we don’t want to alert the kids-”

“HOW DID YOU LOSE THE MIRACULOUSES TO TWO KIDS?!”

“We’re not entirely sure.” Marinette explained, “The earrings were in Adrien’s desk at school because I was on a work trip up until yesterday. We were working on earring design, and I didn’t want to risk any mixups.”

What the hell was happening? She thought she had this all figured out, but apparently, she had made some very incorrect assumptions. Trying to put together all the puzzle pieces being laid before her, Alya asked, “So, somehow, the earrings wandered from his desk into the hands of the new Ladybug. What about the Cat Miraculous?”

“I never take off either of my rings,” said Adrien, referencing both his Miraculous and his wedding ring. “I genuinely have no idea how  _ anyone _ would have gotten it off of me, even…”

She finished his sentence. “Even Emma.”

The couple glanced at each other, but then nodded. 

“Do you think her identity’s that obvious to everyone?” Marinette had moved on to fiddling with her hair.  
Alya wasn’t going to lie about the odds. Knowledge was an infinitely powerful tool, and she wasn’t about to keep it out of her best friends’ hands. “I think most of the previous superheroes will figure it out, if they haven’t already. If the new Butterfly Miraculous holder is one of them, Emma is screwed.” 

Both Adrien and Marinette sucked in their breath.

“ _ But _ ,” she continued, “the odds that any of them are operating as the new Hawkmoth are low. The pool is composed of people who either fought the original fight or are in prison. And the prison is way too far away to be in range for Parisian akumatizations.”

They let out their breaths.

“Now, how  _ the hell _ did you lose the Butterfly Miraculous?” she demanded. That was the real question of the evening.

“It was my fault.” 

“Now Adrien-” started Marinette.

“It’s true, and you know it.” Adrien sagged in his seat and glanced toward Alya. “A couple weeks ago, I came home from a visit with my father and I wasn’t-- I was angry. I didn’t understand why he did the things he did. Still don’t, but what’s new? So I took out the Butterfly Miraculous to see if Nooroo had any answers.”

“And you didn’t put it back when you were done.” 

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

Somehow, Alya didn’t have it in her to be angry. She knew how  _ wrecked _ he’d been when Hawkmoth had been defeated. And as much as he tried to hide it, she knew that somewhere in Adrien, a confused and scared kid who still loved his father remained. 

“Adrien.” Alya reached to place a hand on his cheek. “It’s going to be okay.”

She didn’t believe that. She didn’t believe that one day Adrien was going to wake up and not care about his supervillain father. She didn’t believe that he would ever believe that he wasn’t personally responsible for the reign of a new Hawkmoth. 

But Alya did believe that one day he would be able to let go of all those fears just enough to accept the way the world was and be okay with it. Someday.

Alya continued to work on her article, and got it published within the next two weeks. It was the longest and most in-depth article of her career. It touched on every single possible topic that one could wonder about the Miraculouses (well, except for the stuff that one learned by actually being a superhero). It would act as a basic guide to anyone new to the Parisian superheroes and a springboard for anyone looking to do further research. It was  _ perfect _ . 

She found herself writing some advice for the heroes in the conclusion.

_ “As someone who lived through the previous generation of akumas and Miraculouses, I am urged to leave our new superheroes with some guidance. Number One: You don’t need to carry the world on your shoulders. Don’t isolate yourselves. You have a built-in partner, and there is a whole city of people ready to help you, armed with the knowledge of the previous generation. We are here for you. Number Two: You are allowed to make mistakes! Super or not, humans mess up, and that’s okay. It’s how you grow. We will forgive you and help you move on from your mistakes. Number Three: You have this in the bag. I wish the utmost success to the both of you, and we all believe in you so much.” _

The article launched itself into popularity and easily became Alya’s most-read piece. She couldn’t help but grin when it remained on the front page of her news publication’s site for over three weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter is already written, I just want to get started on the one after that before I publish it to give me buffer time. I hope you enjoyed, and I live for comments, constructive criticism welcome!


	2. Seeing Spots

While out of all those readers of her Miraculous article, Alya wasn’t surprised that at least one of them was one of the new superheroes, she was surprised when the new Ladybug trailed behind her on the rooftops as she walked home from work. On a near empty backstreet, Alya called behind her, “You planning on coming down to talk any time soon?”

Ladybug disappeared. Alya cursed to herself.

Over a phone call, Marinette admitted after some prodding, “I miss Tikki. I’d had her for decades; she was  _ family _ , and now she’s just gone.”

A pause.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

The new Ladybug tried to follow Alya home again, albeit at a greater distance. Afraid of scaring her off, she said nothing until she reached her building. “Apartment 342,” she yelled to the air, away from Ladybug’s location. Some passersby shot her strange looks.

Ladybug wasn’t in Alya’s apartment, despite her optimism. She chose to hope that the superhero would join her soon.

“I never thought I’d miss Plagg. He and his love of smelly cheese had always been a constant.” Adrien conceded to her pestering far faster than Marinette. “Yet, here we are.”

“Well, if our theories are right, he isn’t far away,” Alya reminded him.

“That’s the weird thing,” Adrien said. “I’ve offered Emma Camembert to try to hint to her that we know, but she acts as if she has no idea what we’re talking about.”

“Maybe she’s just really keen on the whole ‘secret identity’ thing?”

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe. We’re still buying Camembert, and it’s disappearing at the same rate. Hugo’s always liked the stuff, but unless he’s eating three times what he used to, Plagg’s still gotta be in the house.”

Alya entered her apartment, and despite her never seeing the new Ladybug on her way home, there she sat on her sofa.

“I saw your article.” Her face was stoney, guarded. Her arms were open and propped against the back of the couch as if she was trying to make her small body look bigger.

Alya leaned on the door frame, trying to emphasize a casual atmosphere. It would be easier to make Ladybug relax if  _ she _ pretended to relax, even if she was internally squealing in excitement. This could be the beginning of a relationship between the old and new, of previous and modern. She couldn’t mess this up. “Oh yeah? What’d Tikki think? I’m sure some of the information on the old Ladybugs is dated.”

“You got it right for the most part. They were pleased that I would have a solid base of information to begin with instead of starting from scratch.” Ladybug tilted her head, inviting her into the room.

Alya walked in, closing the door behind her. “They? Back in my time, Tikki was a ‘she.’”

She shrugged as if it couldn’t matter less. “They didn’t clarify, and I try not to make assumptions.”

Joining her on the couch, Alya asked, “Alright, what’s up girl? What’d you come here looking for?”

“Information.” 

She had guessed that to be the case, but hearing her say it… Alya liked this new Ladybug. She understood the power of knowledge. “And what specifically?”

“How do you know so much about the Miraculous?”

“Well, what do you already know?” Knowledge was a tool, and sometimes you had to earn it.

Ladybug considered her words. “I know you ran the Ladyblog back in the day. I know you definitely weren’t Ladybug or Chat Noir, there are far too many videos of you following their battles. Besides, you don’t exactly look similar.” 

Alya snorted at that. She challenged, “So which superhero do I look similar to?”

Miraculous identity magic was weird. It was finicky, inconsistent. You couldn’t even have a semblance of its operation unless you were a longtime user of a Miraculous. On one hand, Miraculouses don’t want others to know their user. They interfere with the perception of the world to make it seem like anyone could be their holder except for the person who actually was. But on the other hand, Miraculouses wanted their user to know the identities of those around them. Some Miraculouses were more powerful than others, and their magic better at seeing past the others. Only experience could truly empress this understanding onto a user, this understanding that their perception was constantly being warped, and how to look past it. 

So it wasn’t unreasonable when Ladybug faltered and said, “I don’t know.”

“I was Rena Rouge.” Alya smiled. Ladybug was young and had so much to learn, and she couldn’t wait to teach her.

They made dinner together, a stir fry. Nino had a DJ gig and wouldn’t be home until late into the night, so it was just the two of them. As they chopped peppers and fried beef, they conversed. Ladybug was a little too skilled with a knife for Alya’s tastes, but she refrained from commenting. They made a deal that for every question Ladybug asked, Alya got to ask one in return, with the promise that all of this was off the record and wouldn’t be published.

“Have we met in civilian form?” Alya grabbed the soy sauce from the cupboard. “I need to make sure you’re not, like, my goddaughter or something.” Of course, Alya knew that that example was phony. The theory was that Chat Noir was Emma, not Ladybug. Besides, the latter looked nothing like any of the Agrestes.

“No, I’d never even heard of you before your article. Everything I knew about you was research before coming here,” Ladybug admitted. She sat at the table as Alya plated their finished meal.

That narrowed her down to one of Adrien’s students, not one of their other friends’ kids. It also aligned with the idea that the earrings had been taken at Adrien’s school.

As Alya placed the stir fry in front of her, the superhero continued speaking. “What was the first Ladybug like? Do you still talk to her?”

She considered the question. “Do you want to hear about what  _ Ladybug _ was like or about the woman behind the mask?”

A pause. “Ladybug.”

“Really? Interesting.” Alya took a bite of her food. It needed more salt, so she added some.

The new Ladybug shrugged. “I figure I better know what I’m trying to live up to.”

A laugh erupted from Alya. “Oh, you won’t.”

“Wow, thanks for that vote of confidence.” New Ladybug looked genuinely scorned, but how was Alya supposed to explain? 

The original Ladybug was… She was… She was an inspiration. A hero. She could do no wrong. 

“She’s a memory,” said Alya. “You can’t live up to a memory.”

Ladybug was all those things and more because she was gone. Marinette, who still lived and interacted with the world, was kind and creative and clumsy and smart. And she was flawed, something the original Ladybug would never be again. 

“You can’t live up to a memory, girl,” she repeated. “Everyone who knew the old LB has romanticized her to Hell and back. I guarantee some nostalgic idiots are going to write articles and posts and think pieces about how you don’t measure up. You just gotta ignore them and keep on moving.”

The new Ladybug thought on that. They ate their food in silence, until Alya couldn’t sit on her question anymore.

“Now, how did you get your Miraculous?” She had been waiting the entire dinner to ask. She couldn’t spring the question too early, or risk scaring Ladybug off, but Alya had to know.

Ladybug responded smoothly, without any hesitance for miles. “The old Ladybug gave it to me.”

Her confidence would’ve carried the answer, but Alya knew better. “Please, have a little respect for me, and don’t lie.”

The superhero froze, like a deer caught with its foot in a trap. “How. How could you possibly know? Aren’t all of our identities supposed to be secret?”

“We’re retired, what can I say?” Alya said with a smirk. She then leaned forward. “Now, answer the question: How did you get your Miraculous?”

“I… I…”

Alya waited.

“I took it.”

“Took it?” It wasn’t accusatory; it was clarificatory. ‘Took it’ could mean an abundance of things, and Alya would make no assumptions. She wanted the truth. Nothing less.

Ladybug continued, her stare burning a whole in her plate, “The case was in my teacher’s desk. I grabbed it thinking I could pawn it off for money. Later, when I opened it to see what I had, Tikki popped out and explained what I’d actually taken. I was shocked. I swear, I planned on putting it back in his desk, but then the akuma attacked, and Tikki told me I needed to transform, and then I did, it was so  _ good _ .” 

Ladybug had closed her eyes, and she smiled to herself. “I had kind of given up on the idea that I would contribute anything good to the world. I’ve spent most of my life taking; I’m a  _ thief _ . Things at home aren’t the greatest, so I have to fend for myself. But for once, people were depending on me to give. And it felt so good to do so.”

Alya hummed, listening. “Yeah, that’s more like it.”

Ladybug looked up at her, confused. “What, you’re glad I’m a shoplifter?”

“You have  _ motivation _ ,” Alya clarified. “You’re going to be just fine.”

After they finished eating and washing up the dishes, Alya gave the new Ladybug her phone number. 

“-I spent years sneaking around with a Miraculous, there’s never a time where I can’t sneak away to help you, whether that be as short as a phone call or if I need to come over personally.”

Ladybug took the slip of paper with the number. Her prickly, defensive demeanor had smoothed into something much softer since the start of the evening, something much truer to the person Alya suspected she was. “...Thank you.”

“Give that number to Chat Noir too. And, for the sake of my journaling sanity, please pick out a different name than ‘Ladybug.’” Alya could imagine the historical confusion now. People studying past users of the Miraculouses and trying to differentiate between two superheroes with the same power set and same name… how theses on Miraculous would have to clarify every sentence which hero they were discussing, the current Ladybug would end up being called “Ladybug Jr.” or “Ladybug II”… it stressed her out just thinking about it.

The teen opened the window and set her foot on the sill. “How does Spots sound?”

Alya grinned. “Go get ‘em Spots.”

She spent the next half hour sitting on the couch, thinking through what had just happened. Thinking about what was to come. Then she called Marinette.

“YOU MET THE NEW LADYBUG?!?” she screamed upon hearing the news.

“She’s going by Spots.”

A long conversation would follow. 

When Alya explained how Spots had gotten the Ladybug Miraculous, Marinette asked, “So our new Ladybug is a kleptomaniac?”

“Yes? I’m not sure, the whole situation gave me weird vibes. She’s so skinny, and she mentioned pawning it off for money. I don’t think… I need to see what I can learn about her home life.”

“Skinny’s no good, she’s going to burn so many calories as a superhero. And all that muscle she’s going to gain… she needs as many carbs and as much protein as she can get.”

When Alya told her that she’d given Spots her phone number, Marinette sighed in relief. “Okay, so they can get in contact if they need help, that makes me feel better, but...”

“You’re afraid we’re overstepping,” finished Alya, nodding to herself. It made sense. She had seen Marinette’s parenting style; she helped when necessary or when asked, but she was very keen on letting her kids feel free and independent.

“What? No!” Marinette sputtered. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to help enough!”

She laughed at that. “What, you want to give them your number too?”

“No, I’m just thinking...” The line went silent. “What if they get in over their heads? I could never forgive myself if one of them got hurt, or- or-”

“Hey,” Alya cut her off. “It’s okay, everything is okay. We’ll do all we can to help them. They have something we never had: a support system.”

“But what if-” she started. Marinette seemed to think about her next words. “What if I gave you the Fox Miraculous? To keep.”

“What- are you serious?!” To get to be a superhero again, to get to see Trixx again, to get to  _ live _ again-- Alya could barely breathe. Running across rooftops, defeating akuma, that had been a  _ dream _ . A dream with downsides sure, but nothing could compare to it. “You’re not pulling my leg, you’d actually let me be Rena Rouge again?”

“It makes sense. And it would make me feel better if they had backup.”

Alya found a small black box sitting on her desk the next day, and she grinned so wide her face felt like it would split.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter comes courtesy of the Waitress soundtrack.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment, I live for feedback!


	3. A Grudge Against Reporters

A couple weeks went by with no contact between Alya and the new superheroes. She saw them during akuma battles and in the news, of course, but Spots refrained from using the phone number Alya had given her. 

Until she received a text while at work. It read,  _ wut can you tell me about the butterfly miraculous? _ She grinned and began drafting a looooong message back. It was totally worth the flack she got from Sofie for slacking off. Alya added the phone number to a contact labeled “Niece.” Vague enough not to give any hints, and inconspicuous enough to not be questioned. In other words, it was perfect. 

The second time she got in contact was a few weeks after the previous. This time it was a call early in the morning, which Nino did not appreciate. 

“Mmmgghhh who is calling at this hour?” he grumbled into his pillow. 

“It’s only five a.m., dingus, and we just had daylight savings, so it’s basically six.” Only one of them was an early riser in this relationship. She picked up her phone. Upon seeing the caller ID, she climbed out of bed. “Spots. Gotta take this one, babe.”

He mumbled something in response as she clambered into the hallway. Alya accepted the call. “Hey, Spots, what are you doing up this early?”

Her voice came out breathy and terrified. “Ladybug had, like-” A crash in the background. “-had an underwater form, an ice form, a-”

“Do you need one right now?” Alya tried to speak calmly. Freaking out would not help the superheroes, but that couldn’t stop her mind from racing. What if one of them got hurt? Should Alya go grab the Fox Miraculous from her purse and help in person? No, no, Alya had work today, and the duo needed independence. She had to control herself.

“The akuma is throwing fireballs.”

That was enough to throw her back into thinking she needed Trixx, but once again, Alya refrained. “Go to the Dupain-Cheng Bakery in costume,” she instructed. “They might not be open yet, but if you knock at the front door, they’ll let you in. Ask about their ‘special cookies.’”

“I- Okay.” The line clicked and ended. Alya let out a breath. They would be okay, she told herself. She trusted them. Still, Alya found herself getting ready for the day, her phone, with the ringer, on always within reach.

The third contact followed several weeks after that, another call. It came in the evening this time, as Alya snuggled into her sofa, reading a mystery novel. Before she could even begin to utter a greeting, Spots inquired, “Hey, are you busy?” Her tone was controlled, but emotion bubbled beneath the surface.

“Not at all, Bug.” Alya closed her book and sat up.

“ _ Thank God, _ ” she heard, though it was barely audible over the phone. Spots continued, “The akuma-- we’ve been fighting for  _ hours _ and we’re no closer to defeating it. I used my Lucky Charm, and it gave me a fox statue, and- and-”

“Do you want me to come help?”

“I…  _ yes _ .”

Alya already had the Fox Miraculous in hand.

“I’m on my way.”

It’d been a long time since Rena Rouge had suited up. Decades. The familiar weight of her flute in her hand, the snug fit of her costume, the feel of roof tiles beneath her running feet: it was like breathing pure oxygen. Rena may have had a mission, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy being back for the first time in years. 

She arrived at the scene in no time at all to find a size-shifting villain destroying building after building. Currently, he was humongous, with Spots and Chat Noir darting around him in an effort to stop him. They looked like fleas in comparison.

Rena Rouge studied the scene. Logistically, the villain wasn’t an overly complicated one. The akuma was clearly in his glittery boots (as evidenced by his stomping activating his size shifts); all the superheroes needed to do was get Chat Noir near enough to Cataclysm them. This last part seemed to be the struggle. Whenever she got close, the villain would either attempt to stomp her or shrink to a microscopic level. 

Rena called, “Hey! Regroup time!”

The superhero duo turned toward her and zipped in her direction. They met her on the rooftop. She looked at Spots. “What do you need from me? A plan, an illusion, a distraction: you tell me.”

“A plan would be nice,” said Chat Noir, pulling Rena’s attention. She hadn’t met her yet. From what she had seen from afar, the new superhero was a jokester, the morale-lifter, carrying the previous holder’s role in the duo. Today, she just seemed tired.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to.” Rena explained her plan.

Chat Noir acted as a distraction. Apparently, this particular villain (named Gigantitan) had it out for her. Something something, an appearance from her had upstaged his tap dance performance. Rena wasn’t too concerned with the details.

While Gigantitan chased Chat Noir to an empty street, Rena and Spots took a shortcut to get there. The latter called for a new Lucky Charm, and it was--

“A giant tube of glue?” Spots asked. She glanced around, taking stock of her surroundings. “oH! Help me set this up.”

They covered a portion of the street in the stuff. Rena Rouge’s initial plan hadn’t accounted for this Lucky Charm, but it would definitely help.

Chat Noir, with Gigantitan in tow, rounded the corner. “Get ready!”

Rena used Mirage, erasing the glue, Spots, Chat Noir, and herself from the scene. When Gigantitan stepped onto the glue, the sound of a yo-yo squealed around his legs. Spots tied him up, and with the glue trapping his feet from stomping, he became completely immobilized.

At the same time, a voice yelled “Cataclysm!” and a second after, his glittery boots disintegrated around his feet. 

More zipping yo-yo noises. Ladybug cried, “Gotcha!” and cleansed the akuma. “Lucky charm!” Ladybugs flew around the city, reverting the city to its previous, undestroyed state. They also erased the illusion.

Gigantitan dissolved into a man in his thirties, who blinked in confusion. “What happened?”

Rena, noticing that the other two superheroes were busy celebrating amongst themselves, decided to handle the victim herself. She approached him with a relaxed smile. “You were akumatized, but you’re all good now.”

He seemed to relax at that, until he processed who was speaking to him. “You’re… you’re Rena Rouge! You’re back!”

She gave a laugh. “Yes. Yes, I am. What’s your name?”

“August.” They shook hands, but then August seemed to spot his watch. “Crap, that’s the time? I gotta go, my mom and I are getting dinner together!”

Rena waved goodbye as he dash off, then turned to walk to the other superheroes, who were high fiving. Something tickled the back of her mind, a giant named August…. But she brushed it off. “Not too shabby,” she told them with a smile. Spots sent her own tiny, guarded smile back.

In one swift motion, Chat Noir clapped her hands and turned away. “Welp, I’m beat. Thanks for the help Rena, I will see you later.” She pole vaulted away.

Rena Rouge looked back toward Spots. “That was a rather… sudden exit.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen her do that before...” Spots was still staring after her partner. “But that’s our first battle that’s ever taken that long. Her parents are probably looking for her.”

“And yours aren’t?” Rena asked. The way she said it… the shielded longing in her voice… it reminded her of a younger Adrien.

Spots ignored her question. “Thank you for coming today,” she whispered. “I don’t think-- I don’t know if we could’ve done it without you.”

Rena put a hand on her shoulder. “Any time.”

Reporters appeared soon after that, before Spots or Rena had parted ways, each one wanting the scoop on this new superhero. 

Spots’ earrings beeped. “I gotta-”

“Go.” Rena Rouge told her. “I’ll handle the crowd.”

Alya didn’t care much for reporters. Their job was to report on the then-and-now, and they always came in flocks. And before someone called her hypocritical, she was not a reporter. She had been in her Ladyblog days, but not anymore. She’d shed that skin like a butterfly shedding its cocoon. Alya Césaire was an investigative journalist. There was a big difference. Reporters were cheap. Maybe not in pay, but they went for the easy stories with minimal research. Investigative journalists dug deep; they put in the effort before publishing. Big. Difference.

Fortunately, Rena Rouge, who had much more patience for the press, was handling the flock of reporters, not Alya. They cried questions at her. 

“Are you the previous Rena Rouge?”

“Where are the old Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

“Why are you here when the other superheroes aren’t?”

She fielded the questions with ease, both her knowledge as an ex-reporter and her practice from her earlier years contributing. It took about ten minutes (she wasn’t an amatuer anymore, she could hold her transformation post-Mirage for more than five) for her to answer what she felt comfortable disclosing. 

“Yes, I am the previous holder of the Fox Miraculous.” 

“The previous Ladybug and Chat Noir are fine, they’ve just handed off the torch.”

“The new superheroes called me in for assistance.” 

“I am not at liberty to disclose that.”

“I am not at liberty to disclose that.”

“I am not at liberty to disclose that.”

“Please refrain from asking such personal questions, I will not be answering them.”

More accurately, it took her ten minutes to answer eight real questions and then shut down the rest. Since when was it the public’s business the relation between these new superheroes and the previous ones? Apparently Spots resembled the old Chat Noir enough to warrant questioning, a similarity Rena did not see. Sure, the blonde hair matched, but the face shape, the nose, the eyes…. Definitely Miraculous identity magic’s work.

She ended by saying these new superheroes had her blessing, and that she was sure all the others would agree. Then it was heading home and detransforming for her. 

“So, how’d it feel?” Marinette asked over the phone. 

“It. Was Amazing,” Alya gushed. She lay across her sofa in her pajamas. “I forgot what it felt like. Like you’re flying.”

“Yeah?” She didn’t miss the wistfulness in her friend’s tone.

“Oh, hey,” she backtracked. Alya  _ knew _ how much Marinette missed Tikki and her Miraculous. “That’s really not fair of me.”

Marinette said, “It’s fine. You should get to talk about it.”

“Maybe so, but...” Alya stopped. They both had valid points; there really was nothing to argue about. 

“Is this how you guys felt?” Marinette blurted.

“What?”

She paused. “When I took all your Miraculouses. Did you feel so… limited? Trapped?”

Alya wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Giving up the Fox Miraculous had been hard. She remembered feeling like she was missing part of herself. Like all her life she’d been able to walk only to wake up paralyzed. She didn’t think, however, her emotional connection to Trixx ran as deep as Marinette and Tikki’s. They’d had decades more together, and it wasn’t on and off like Alya and Trixx. 

“I think so, yes,” Alya decided. “But I think you’re getting a more intense version. Same feeling, but up to, like, an eleven.”

Marinette made a noise, and even through the phone, it broke her heart.

“I’m so, so sorry,” said Marinette.

“No, hey,  _ girl _ .” Oh shit, how did Alya fix this? “You did the right thing. The Miraculouses need to stay under the watch of their Guardian. You did what you had to.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t  _ suck _ for you guys.” she bit back.

Alya was at a loss. “Sometimes what’s right doesn’t feel good. You can’t change that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say "Thanks 'Waitress' Album!" for this chapter. I played in On Loop.
> 
> I live for feedback! Don't be afraid to leave a comment, positive or negative.


	4. I'm Feeling Lucky

Spots visits became a regular event of sorts. Although she rarely gave any forewarning, she would often be waiting on the couch when Alya returned from work. She and Nino got to know the girl well, and Alya found herself texting Spots when both halves of the couple had evening plans. 

They discussed all sorts of topics, from Nino’s DJ-ing gigs to this week’s akumas to goals for the future. One frequent subject was the new Hawkmoth.

“It’s weird,” Alya commented one night. “I’ve never seen this new user go after your Miraculouses. The old Hawkmoth never stopped trying to steal them until he was defeated.” It was always “the old Hawkmoth,” never Gabriel Agreste. The whole world knew they were one and the same, but saying it… For Alya, saying it was hard.

“Honestly, we haven’t gotten so much as a name out of them,” admitted Spots. “We only know they’re out there because people are getting akumatized.”

Alya and Nino shared a look. He said, “What, not even, like, a motive? What do they want?”

“Neither Lucky or I have a clue.” Spots shrugged.

Nino asked, “Oh, Lucky? Is that the name your Chat Noir picked out?”

Spots confirmed, and the conversation flowed on to other subjects.

Alya couldn’t help but internally coo at the name “Lucky.” It had a similar tone as Spots, but it also had a touch of irony due to the Cat Miraculous’ association with bad luck.

On a different night, over Chinese takeout, Alya asked if Spots had any plans for university. Spots was a smart kid; she had a bright future ahead of her. “I know, it's the ‘annoying adult question’ at this age, so it’s okay if you don’t want to answer.”

“Oh, well,” Spots scratched the back of her head, “my mother would never want to spend money on it, and commiting to a job right now is... well, I’d end up dashing out the door for Miraculous duties and getting fired for it.”

Alya crinkled her eyebrows in thought. Spots had a fair point; Miraculous duties kept a teenager busy, and most businesses wouldn’t accomodate for that without explanation. She wondered if there was a way to work around that… 

“Do you have any idea what career areas you would be interested in?” Alya asked before adding, “Again, no pressure to have an answer.”

Spots stammered, “I… umm, it’s kind of silly...”

“There are no wrong answers,” Nino assured her. He of all people knew what it was like to commit to an unusual career path.

“I always thought cooking was kind of neat.” She stared down at her lap.

An idea clicked into place in Alya’s head. What business owners would be more accommodating to Spots than the parents of Ladybug?

She shook her head. That would require knowing identities and sharing them and… Alya would work on it. The idea needed to incubate before hatching. Soon, a solution was coming soon...

“Well, I’m no expert cook,” Nino told Spots, “but you’re more than welcome to use our kitchen so long as we get to taste test.”

She gave a small smile.

The one thing Alya and Nino never asked about (besides the obvious “What’s your civilian identity?!” question), and the thing she was most curious about, was Spots’ home and family. The teen occasionally dropped hints, and with each tease, Alya grew more and more suspicious. Some things she said were innocuous, like when it was eleven at night on a Tuesday and Spots told them “oh, it’s fine, my mom’s not expecting me to come home,” which could’ve been excused by her telling her mother that she would be at a friends house. Some were slightly more suspicious, but didn’t necessarily indicate poor parenting, such as when, as part of a story, she said, “I pawned off the watch to buy a couple more groceries.”

The problem was that if this was what Spots was willing to say, these unsettling remarks, then what was she holding back? And she only seemed to grow more covert about it as time went on. (She’d admitted, “ _ Things at home aren’t the greatest, so I have to fend for myself _ ,” when they first met, but now skimmed over literally any mention of her mother.) Plus, the sheer volume of them overwhelmed Alya. She was no expert on parenting, but nearly all of her friends had kids. She couldn’t imagine any one of their children mentioning half of the details that Spots did. 

There were other unsettling factors that played into Alya’s suspicions: Spots’ thinly veiled surprise at them taking interest in her hobbies, the occasional bruises on her wrists, how often the superhero was spotted patrolling at eerie hours of the night. But what was she supposed to do? You can’t call Child Welfare on a superhero. All Alya could do was offer an escape and a reminder that that’s not how adults were supposed to treat her. 

One night she returned home to find a different superhero waiting in her apartment. Lucky, with the posture of a goody-two-shoes sitting outside the principal’s office for the first time, sat on her couch.

Giving a wry smile, Alya said, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Lucky shrugged awkwardly. “Spots told me how to get here.”

“I figured.” Making her way to the kitchen, Alya grabbed some freshly baked cupcakes she’d picked up from the Dupain-Cheng Bakery, put them on a plate, and set them on the coffee table in front of Lucky. “I gotta make a stop in the bathroom, help yourself until I get back.”

Lucky nodded.

Now, Alya  _ did _ actually have to go to the bathroom, that much was true. However, she could’ve held it, but she also needed to make a call. After finishing her business and washing her hands, she pulled out her phone.

“Hey, Nino, where you at?”

His voice crackled over the phone line. “Just running some errands, I’ll be home soon.”

“Can you procrastinate getting home for, like, an hour more?” Alya asked. “I got… a stray cat that I don’t want to scare off with too many people.”

“Stray cat… Lucky??” 

“...Maybeeee.”

Nino gave a small laugh at her shenanigans. “Shoot me a text when you’re done, I’ll just go hole up at a coffee shop, yeah?”

“Will do,” she assured him. “Talk to you later, babe.”

He gave his final farewell, and Alya made her way back out to the living room to find Lucky sitting on a chair now, having moved from the couch. One of the cupcakes had vanished.

“Hello there, Lucky. What can I do for you?” Alya sat on the now empty sofa.

The teenager didn’t respond immediately, shifting in her seat. “So you’re...”

There were a lot of ways that one could finish that sentence, and Alya would not make assumptions. “I’m…?”

“You’re Rena Rouge,” Lucky concluded. 

“That’s me.” Alya knew a thing or two about goading answers out of people. While you could try to force answers, it was much easier and much more effective to invite them to talk. Encourage their words, acknowledge their truth. And silence. People don’t like silence. They want to fill it, even if that means opening up more than they intended to.

The room was silent for only a moment before Lucky asked, “All this time?”

Alya motioned with her hand, teetering it back and forth. “Well, yes and no. The Fox Miraculous has had plenty of users before me, and there  _ was _ an akuma who pretended to wield it before me. But I’ve been the only actual holder in the last century, and the only one to go by Rena Rouge, yes.”

“So… so you know Ladybug and Chat Noir.” She hadn’t lost any of her nervousness. Her posture was still tight, the opposite of what Spots’ had been upon their first meeting. Alya had hoped to warm up Lucky with conversation, but if anything, she’d only grown more tense. 

All Alya said was, “That is correct.”

“And you still talk to them?” Something was happening in her head, and Alya wanted to know what. Lucky had come here in search of  _ something _ , something much more specific than Spots.

“...yes. I was on the phone with Chat earlier today.”

“Do you ever talk about… the new Miraculous holders?”

Okay, time to cut to the chase. “Lucky, what is this about?”

“Do they approve of what we’re doing? Would they approve of… of me?”

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

This was personal. 

“Girl… of course they do. They’re probably your biggest supporters; they understand how hard it is better than anyone.”

Lucky stared down at her hands. 

Alya stood from the couch to kneel in front of Lucky and take her hands. “Talk to me. What’s happening in that brain?”

Silence. 

But then…

Alya realized something. She remembered their theory for Lucky’s civilian identity.

“You know who Ladybug and Chat Noir are, don’t you?”

Lucky nodded, softly and slowly. As if she’d accepted a tragic fate.

“Are they… are they your parents?”

Another solemn nod.

“Emma?”

And Lucky didn’t move. 

Alya had predicted it at the beginning, and part of her was proud to have figured it out. Most of her, however, was disappointed. Not in Lucky, but in herself. You don’t announce someone’s secret identity, you just don’t do that. Alya had just done something awful.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, being outed as a superhero--”

“That’s not what I was just outed as.”

“What?” Alya’s brain stopped at that. Something wasn’t right. She had gotten something wrong.

“I’m not Emma.”

She’d made an assumption.

Lucky stood up, pulling her hands from Alya’s, and zipped out the window.

“Shit,” was all Alya could think to say.

She texted Nino, letting him know that he was good to come home. Alya thought on what she had said. Lucky was Adrien and Marinette’s daughter. They only had one daughter: Emma. But Lucky wasn’t Emma. So there was somehow another daughter in this equation.

“SHIT!”

Alya ran to her bedroom and snatched the Fox Miraculous from her purse. She slung it over her head, summoning its kwami.

“Trixx,” she demanded, cutting off any greeting that may have come otherwise, “how much can a Miraculous alter its wearer’s appearance?”

“Well, it changes the outfit, of course, but it’s also capable of changing hair length, hair color, eye color-”

Alya cut him off. “How much can it change their body shape?”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” Trixx looked confused.

She tried to think of the best way to phrase her question. “Could it make a body like Nino’s look more like mine?”

After receiving her answer, she bade farewell to her kwami and took off the necklace.

When Nino walked in the apartment door, he found Alya sprawled on the couch, face pressed into a throw pillow. He asked, “Things go that badly?”

“I narrowed down her identity to two people, and her whole secret identity issue is waaay more complicated than I realized.” Her voice was muffled by the pillow, but hopefully he could still understand her words.

Nino sat next to Alya and began rubbing her back. “You want to talk about it?”

She groaned. “That’s the thing, I can’t.”

“You can’t?” The eyebrow crinkle was clear even by just his voice.

Alya pulled herself up enough to look Nino dead in the eyes. “Not without crossing a billion lines.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody:  
> Absolutely No One:  
> Me: Trans superhero rights!
> 
> But yeah! If you have any questions about it, feel free to ask, I am here to educate.
> 
> Also, I did go back and make a couple of alterations to the previous chapters. Most of them were just slight rewordings to make things flow better, but uhhh, there's a change in the third chapter you won't wanna miss ;)


	5. Does the Brain Have an Off Button?

Regardless of things we learn and the revelations we have, life continues on. The days beat on at a merciless rhythm. Alya still had work to do and information to research. She still had responsibilities and meetings and a life to live. 

Occasionally, she saw the fledgeling superheroes around the city. When they would wave, Alya would wave back. Neither said much, but then again, none of them had before. Spots still visited in the evening, and Alya often asked how Lucky was doing. 

“She’s still as quippy as ever,” Spots said one night. “Did… did something happen between you guys? Every time you ask, you tense up.”

“Didn’t realize it was that obvious.” Alya set down her fork. Suddenly, her dinner didn’t seem nearly as appetizing. Nino watched her out of the corner of his eye, and she knew that he was curious about her response too. “It was my fault,” she started. “Lucky came over one evening, and I got a little too personal.”

Spots scrunched her eyebrows. “Too personal?”

“Connected some dots I shouldn’t have,” she replied, repicking up her utensil. “Couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

“You realize how vague that is right?”

“Good.” Alya stabbed her fork in the direction of the teen, mouth full of linguini. “It’s not your business.” She admired Spots’ thirst for knowledge, but sometimes information isn’t yours to share. There was nothing to gain for anyone in telling; Spots would have to live with that.

The next week, Marinette and Adrien invited Alya and Nino over for dinner, and Alya got to see all three Agreste children lined up before her. As they ate and talked and laughed in the Agreste dining room, her brain  _ would not shut up _ .

You can’t know everything. You don’t want to know everything. And as nosy as Alya was, even she knew that people had a right to their secrets. 

But she was so close to knowing. She had gotten a taste and narrowed down her suspects to two people. And as easy as it was to preach good, respecting behavior, Alya’s subconscious would not obey. Each little detail of each story, every mannerism and every physical trait, set off Alya into thinking, “Would Lucky have done that?” “Does that match with Lucky?”

So eating dinner was… frustrating as she tried to reign in her instinctual thoughts.

Currently, Emma was regaling the table about her audition for her school’s production of  _ Cyrano de Bergerac _ . “--I’m aiming for Roxanne, but I think Alberte might get it. At the very least, I think I’ll get the Duenna, but Roxanne’s the goal, you know?”

“Okay, explain the plot of the show again to me, it’s about a man with a long nose...” Adrien was asking, but all Alya could think was how wrong they were to believe Emma could be Lucky. 

Sure, her dark hair and green eyes matched. She looked about the right age. She had the same nose and chin and cheekbones. But despite the physical match, Emma had the  _ completely _ wrong personality. While people did behave differently in and out of costume, the changes always reflected a consistent line of logic; they reflected their circumstances and what herowork meant to them. For Marinette, Ladybug had meant a chance to lead and be confident. For Adrien, Chat Noir had meant freedom, letting go of the expectations pressed upon him. For Alya, Rena Rouge had been not only a chance to help her heroes (and later, friends), but also to learn and experience what being a superhero meant. 

Emma’s personality wasn’t compatible with Lucky’s in that way. She was easily excitable and forgetful with a love of people. A drift from that to Lucky’s down-to-Earth attitude didn’t make sense. While Emma would make a fine superhero (one very similar to Ladybug, Alya would add), she was no Lucky. Miraculous identity magic was a powerful force, and even after all these years, it had still fooled Alya into believing Emma was a candidate.

She pulled her attention back to her surroundings and tried to find the conversation. Emma’s twin, Hugo, was speaking now. “I’m just saying, they both got long noses and a thing with words, Cyrano and Pinocchio seem awfully similar to me.”

“Hugoooooooo,” Emma had draped herself over his shrugging arms. (Alya had decided to use he/him pronouns in order to avoid going crazy trying to guess the correct ones. She valued her sanity a little, but apparently not enough to stop thinking about the situation entirely.) 

“It’s not my fault I’m right.” He continued to gesture with his hands, unhindered by his sister. 

Hugo was a possible candidate for Lucky’s secret identity. His natural confidence and dry humor could definitely melt into the softness and joking quality of the superhero. Alya knew from Marinette and Adrien that he was smart: a straight-A’s, advanced classes for fun kind of smart. She had only fought alongside Lucky once, but in that battle, she had seen the way the gears in her head turned quickly and precisely. Plus, the dark hair and age matched well, even if the blue eyes did not.

Now Louis was asking about the director’s plans for the set. “I stole your script and read through it--”

“Hey!” Emma objected.

“--and I’m really interested in that first balcony scene, where Cyrano speaks for Christian and how that’s going to be set up.”

Louis was still a year too young to join Emma’s drama club, but it was widely understood he would join the tech crew the second he could. He liked working with his hands, and had shelves upon shelves of models to prove it. 

Now that Alya was thinking about it, Lucky’s intelligence in battle could easily arise from that kind of spatial and visual thinking. She would be a more confident version of Louis’ quiet self. Plus, the Cat Miraculous could easily disguise his blond hair and youth. 

Nino tapped Alya’s shoulder, and she internally cringed. Crap, was her daydreaming really that obvious? He motioned with his head a little, directing her attention back to the waking world. The teenagers were picking up plates to bring to the kitchen, and Adrien was reminding them to make sure their homework was done.

The dinner was over, and Alya was no closer to discerning Lucky’s civilian identity. She couldn’t bring herself to find that to be a bad thing, however. If it had been so obvious, she would’ve been concerned that someone else would figure it out. Plus, this forced her to put faith in Lucky. Whether Alya liked it or not, it was up to the teenager when (and if) she would ever share her identity.

For the first time that evening, she felt satisfied with her knowledge.

Only Alya, Nino, Marinette, and Adrien remained in the dining room. Just like their last dinner, the Agrestes closed the doors before finally discussing the elephant in the room. 

“Any updates on Spots and Lucky?” Marinette asked. They both returned to their seats, and Alya could tell that they were holding hands under the table.

Nino said, “We have Spots over for dinner fairly regularly, which is nice. We get to talk strategy and work with her a lot; plus, she’s just a sweet kid. Lucky, on the other hand… she’s only visited once.” He doesn’t mention that it’s Alya’s fault, which she appreciates. 

It still needs to be said though. “That one’s on me, actually. I scared her off.”

“Scared her off-- Alya, you were supposed to be our in!” Marinette groaned and put her head in her hands.

Nino tried to placate, “It was an accident--”

At the same time, Alya explained, “I figured something out and couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

Adrien’s eyes widened. “You know her identity.” He spoke plainly; he was stating something he already knew to be true.

She sighed. “I have it narrowed down to two people.”

“Who?” Marinette demanded. Alya was about to give her a look, but the former was already backpedaling. “Nope, don’t you tell me, that was instinct, you should not be sharing.”

“That’s my girl.” She confessed, “Even if it was just her identity at stake, I wouldn’t tell you, but… let’s just there’s an extra layer here that I  _ really _ can’t get into.”

Adrien immediately fired back “Wait, is it Emma?”

Marinnete smacked his arm. “Adrien--”

“No, I’ll give you that one,” Alya cut her off. “It’s not Emma. But ask any more questions and you will get a polite ‘No comment.’”

Nino’s eyes widened in realization, and he groaned. “Oh, God, we’ll be  _ reporters _ .” 

“And you know how she feels about reporters.” Adrien gestured an arm toward Alya.

“She hates them!” everyone crowed in unison.

She smiled. “I hate them.” And despite the heated words, no passion sat behind them. Alya was too deep in the moment, fully invested in the people at the table.

If only she could’ve summoned that kind of focus earlier.

The following week, Alya came home from work to hear a rustling in her apartment. She called, “Hey, Spots! I’m feeling pork chops for dinner, does that sound good?”

But when she walked into her dining room, Alya found a different fledgling superhero waiting there, propped up against an open window. “Lucky.” She tried to compose her thoughts into something coherent. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Lucky gave a small wave. “I… I heard what you said to my parents.”

“Eavesdropping, eh?” Alya leaned against the door frame, and she couldn’t find it in herself to disapprove. She would’ve done the same thing as a teenager.

Lucky shrugged, as if through a heavy coat. “Gotta keep tabs on things somehow.”

“Lucky, I--” Alya paused. How to find the words? “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for looking into your identity. There is not one circumstance where that would’ve been okay, and it especially wasn’t for yours.”

She fiddled with her costume’s claws. “So do you… ” Lucky looked up, and Alya was struck by how big and green they were. “Do you know who I am?” 

Alya walked into the dining room and leaned against a chair. She was fully in the room and fully in the conversation. “I know you’re one of two people, but you figured that out, I’m sure.”

Lucky nodded reluctantly.

She paused, trying to find the words that would make her point. “In all my years as a superhero, you wanna know one of the most interesting things I learned about wearing a mask?” 

The superhero tilted her head in timid curiosity.

“When you first don that costume, you’re free to be the person you’re afraid to be normally. All those inhibitions and fears from everyday life disappear, which means you start out with these two polar personalities and polar lives. And as time goes on… those two people you’ve become leak into each other, until you get the best of both worlds.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that this person you are as Lucky? She’s a  _ very _ real part of you, and everything you love about being her, you’re going to get to have that everyday someday.”

Alya didn’t pretend to understand what Lucky’s life was like. But she could imagine and extrapolate and guess what she needed to hear. And she would do her best to provide it.

“But until then? I know you as Lucky. To me, you are Lucky. The person you are as her is who I am going to know and care about until and if you decide to tell me about any other version of you.”

Lucky stood there in silence. If anything, she had folded over herself even more. Alya couldn’t see her face. Shit, she’d said all the wrong things, hadn’t she? She’d never been great at emotional talks, that’d always been Nino’s area of expertise.

But then she heard a sniffle, and Lucky was wiping a hand across her eyes. “Why is it whenever you come around I start crying?”

“Huh?”

“I came out to Emma after that dinner you came over for. It got a bit emotional.” Lucky pulled herself into a chair, finally settling into the room. She was hugging herself. “I’d never done that before. You two and Plagg are the only ones that know.”

Alya joined her in the seat next to her. “Girl- Is it okay if I call you that? I never checked if you were a girl or nonbinary or-”

“I’m a girl.” Lucky smiled. She whispered, more to herself than to Alya, “ _ I’m a girl. _ ”

Her euphoria was contagious, and Alya found herself grinning alongside her. “Girl, you’re going to be okay, I promise. And when you’re ready? The world will be too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the random high school chamber choirs I've been listening to on youtube, because that shit slaps. There's a song called "Harriet Tubman" which is *chef's kiss* iconic. Why do high school groups always have better dynamics than the professional groups?
> 
> Musical tangents aside, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Comments, positive or constructive, are always welcome!


	6. Hawkmoth 2.0? You Mean a Pokemon?

Paris had been oddly quiet for the last week, and Alya wasn’t one to question the reprieve. The new Hawkmoth likely just had a crammed schedule and didn’t have the time to wreak havoc. If they didn’t have the motivation to make demands, she couldn’t imagine they had the motivation to lull them into a false sense of security.

What concerned Alya more was the increase in nocturnal sightings of Spots. While it wasn’t uncommon to see her swinging along the rooftops early in the morning, it  _ was _ unnerving for her to be seen at two a.m. for five nights straight. 

On the sixth evening, Spots clambered through the window as Alya strained pasta in the sink. For the upteenth time, she griped to herself, “I’m going to get you a key to this apartment, so you can walk through the door like a human person.”

Spots gave a small laugh at that. “You keep saying that, but you’ve yet to actually do it.”

“I know, I know,” Alya conceded. “I just haven’t had the time to actually get another copy of the house key made.”

“Send Nino, he’s got the time.”

Now, that should’ve been the obvious solution. Nino, as a DJ, had many of his weekdays free to run errands. Unfortunately-- “I love my husband to bits, but he’s shitty at errands he’s not practiced at.”

“I heard that!” Nino strolled into the room at that exact moment.

“Egad! He lives!” Alya set down the spoon she’d been mixing the sauce with to ruffle his bed head. Then, she turned her face toward Spots. “He had a late night yesterday and needed a nap. Maybe now he won’t be so crabby.”

“I’m going back to bed if you’re going to be so mean,” he said as he stuck a finger in her sauce to snitch.

Alya only stuck out her tongue at him, a gesture he oh-so-lovingly returned.

After mixing the noodles with the sauce, she dished up the three of them, and at the same time, Nino grabbed refreshments from the fridge while Spots set the silverware. It was like a well oiled machine.

They began to eat, as one does at a dinner. Soon after the meal began, Alya asked casually, maintaining her focus on her utensils, “Spots?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Why have you been roaming Paris at 3 a.m. for the last five days?” 

Spots nearly dropped her spoon at that. 

She shoved more noodles in her mouth, buying her a few seconds to think up a response.  _ Quick thinking _ , Alya thought,  _ But it will not save you _ . 

She swallowed. “I’ve been patrolling.”

Alya placed a finger just-so on her lips, pantomiming deep thought. “Nino, dear--” Oh, yes, she was pulling out the “dear”’s, “--when was the last time someone has been akumatized between the hours of one and four a.m.?”

Before Nino’s nap, they’d discussed Spots’ odd hours and devised a plan. A little ruthless maybe, but worth it. This behavior would not stand if they had anything to do about it.

“Why, I don’t think this new Butterfly Miraculous wielder has ever done such a thing.”

“So, Bug,” Alya said as the couple turned on Spots in sync, “would you like to try again?”

Alya had seen statues that looked more capable of movement than she did at that moment. She stared back at them warily, like she wasn’t sure if it was safe to speak. 

Nino took mercy on the poor girl and gave up the act. Icy smiles weren’t getting them anywhere; they didn’t want to scare her. He said, “Look, Spots, we’re genuinely concerned. You need to sleep.”

And it was like watching Galatea have life breathed into her by Aphrodite. She melted, or more accurately, gave up to their pestering. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Bug,” Alya said softly, “Please.”

Spots sighed. “My mom… She wanted me out of the house for a few days. I’ll be let back in tomorrow night, so I’ll be fine, just one more day. I’ll get some sleep then.”

“She  _ what _ -” Alya barely restrained herself from continuing. Her gentle concern from seconds earlier had burned away; now disgust and anger seethed beneath her skin. 

“Has this happened before, Spots?” Nino’s voice was soft as silk, and thank  _ God _ for Nino. He was an angel sent from above. 

“I mean, yeah?” Spots said, as if afraid of what her words will bring. “This is the first time it’s been for so long though. It’s fine though, I know how to handle myself.”

Nino continued to speak as if approaching a wounded animal. “Spots… that is  _ not fine _ .”

She was frozen again, her stoney face almost impossible to read.

Alya took a deep breath, calming herself. “Thank you for telling us, Bug, that was really brave,” Alya said in a way that hopefully carried on Nino’s tone. She needed Spots to know that it wasn’t her she was angry at, far from it. “She’s not supposed to do that though. Your mother isn’t supposed to do that to you.”

She was angry on her behalf.

Dinner finished quietly that night. Alya ate her food, not really tasting any of it. That…  _ bitch _ . What kind of mother kicked their child out of their home? What kind of person treated  _ Spots _ , a bright, kind kid who deserved the world, like that?

She couldn’t imagine. 

They wash the dishes with few words, with Nino and Spots scrubbing, with Alya drying. A well oiled machine.

As Spots approached the window to swing out into the bitter cold night, Alya called, “We have a guest bedroom. It would make me feel better if-- Would you like to stay here tonight?”

And Spots was still. She’d barely moved the whole evening. Every single movement had been thought out, the pros and cons of expending the necessary energy weighed. Spots turned around to face Nino and Alya straight on. That was maybe the first time that evening she’d done so. Her expression was as readable as a children’s book, also for the first time that evening.

She whispered, “I would like that very much.”

Spots would stay the night that night. And she would go back home the evening after that, back to a woman that Alya had never met but already disdained. 

(But not before Alya gifted her some makeshift pajamas and sleep mask so she could sleep out of costume, with the promise that the couple wouldn’t even look in the direction of the guest bedroom.)

(But not before Nino taught her his pancake-making secrets for breakfast.)

(But not before they gave Spots at least one night in a loving home.)

It was still really only Spots who visited for dinner. Supper was composed of Nino, Alya, the superhero, and food they made together. The couple weren’t experts, but they tried to pass off what cooking tips they did know. At the very least, they gave Spots a kitchen to practice and explore in.

What did change was that sometimes, after dinner, Lucky would climb in through the window.

The first time it happened was a surprise. While washing dishes, Alya heard a rattle as the window slid open. (They never locked it; they were on the third floor. No thief in their right mind would use that as an entrance, and Alya had yet to have more keys made.) Before anyone could respond, Lucky was already speaking, “Sorry for missing dinner, but I had another family dinner to attend.”

She clambered inside and plops down in a chair, casual as anything. “I know you were expecting me, but I could never miss family dinner. If I even suggested it without explanation, my parents would instantly know I was living a double life, that’d be it.”

Alya’s hands were frozen above the sink, towel and plate in hand. Had Lucky just come in so casually after months of silence? Had she really warmed up to them so fast?

Nino was similarly surprised at her boldness, but a smile quirked at the edges of his mouth. 

And then Spots was  _ laughing _ . Not just some timid giggle or polite titter, but honest-to-God  _ laughing _ . “I knew you said you would be visiting soon--” A snort. “--but you didn’t say--” She lost herself to laughter again.

Nino grinned, and Alya was right alongside him. He said, “We’re glad to have you here.”

It became a running gag, Lucky “missing” supper. Every time she visited, they would all collectively make a fuss. Sometimes it was the superhero herself starting it off.

“I know you guys were saving a plate for me, I’m eternally sorry,” she would say, clasping her hands together in melodramatic apology.

Sometimes it was the couple who would crack the first joke.

“Lucky! Where were you, young lady?” Nino would demand, and Alya would pretend to not notice how she seemed to glow at Nino saying “young lady.”

“No, dear, she’s a teenager, she needs her space, even if it worries us so.” Then Alya would place a hand on his forearm in mock woe. 

And occasionally, only once or twice so far, Spots would start it.

“Who is this stranger climbing through the window, I haven’t seen her in so long, I might mistake her for a cat burglar.”

Lucky would grin back. “Cat burglar, I see what you did there.”

Then the evening would continue, and activities included strategy discussion, board games, or just talking. So while dinners were solely for Spots, afterwards was often an affair involving four.

Their discussions of the New Butterfly Miraculous holder often strayed in less serious directions, despite all their action planning.

“So this new Hawkmoth--”

“Do we really have to call them ‘New Hawkmoth?’ It’s kinda a mouthful,” Spots interrupted one evening.

“Oh?” Alya said. “What would you rather we call them?”

Lucky’s eyes widened. “I have been waiting for this day.” She immediately grabbed her baton, which apparently had some equivalent of the Notes app. “I have a list.”

Not all the names were winners.

“Number One: Mariposa,” Lucky suggested.

Nino was confused by that one. “Why Spanish? We’re French?”

“No, it’s like the Barbie movie.”

Most of them weren’t.

“Number Eight: Mothman.” Lucky was continuing down her list, enthusiasm unwavering.

Alya made a face. “Absolutely not.”

“You never let me have any fuuuun.”

“We are literally playing the board game you picked out right now.”

And Spots? Spots was only contributing to the chaos.

“I think you’re neglecting to acknowledge what a solid choice ‘Butterfree’ is,” she prodded.

“ _ Spots, not you too _ .”

But one, one of them actually wasn’t half bad.

“Number Twenty-Three: Monarch Moth.”

“That--” Alya paused, thinking. “Monarch Moth?”

Lucky explained, “Well, Monarch as in monarch butterflies, so you’re alluding to the Miraculous itself, but then Moth for the Hawkmoth reference. Plus,  _ alliteration _ .”

“So, it’s definitely, one-hundred percent not some reference I’m not getting?” She squinted, still suspicious.

“Pinky swear.”

A long, held out sigh. “Fiiiine, that one works.”

“Yes!” Lucky held up her hands to Spots, and they high fived. Huzzah, a name had been chosen. Someone get the fireworks.

And they would make fun of the akumas, because sometimes humor helped relieve the pressure. One night, Spots said only half-joking, “Like, what exactly is going on in a villain’s head? What part of them is still the person they were before, and where does the rest go?”

While on the surface she looked calm, Alya noticed a simmering nervousness in the question. Her fingers fidgeting in her lap. Her smile melted a little too quickly. The concern was a legitimate one to have, wanting to know the harm you did your enemy was fair. 

Even though the superhero meant it as a joke, sometimes you had to take the jokes seriously.

Alya did her best to answer. “Akumatization… it preys on emotion. In the moment, you’re only really capable of the emotion that got you akumatized, or extensions of it. It becomes your guiding force. When that combines with the Butterfly Miraculous user’s influence overriding your moral code…”

Nino picked up the explanation, carrying it on like a baton. “It’s not really you anymore. There’s not enough of you left.”

Spots gave a small awkward laugh at that. “You talk as if  _ you guys _ have been akumatized.”

“I mean, we have been.” Nino repeated her awkward laugh back at her.

“What, and you somehow cleansed your own akumas?” Lucky asked.

“Well, no, this was back with Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Something was wrong here, Alya knew. Either Lucky and Spots knew something she and Nino didn’t, or the reverse. Only question was, what was the missing knowledge?

“But...” Spots’ voice trailed off. Her eyebrows furrowed as she thought. “Wouldn’t you have been teenagers at that time?”

“Don’t do the math, but yeah, we were both fourteen the first time.”

Lucky and Spots turned toward each other, sharing in their mysterious confusion. The latter looked back to Alya and Nino. “All of our akuma victims have been thirty or older.”

“You’re kidding,” Nino said.

Lucky shook her head. “You remember Gigantitan?”

The adults nodded.

“He’s been the youngest. Most of them are around your age or older.”

And that wasn’t the only weird detail about Monarch Moth to be revealed through a joke. 

Lucky quipped one evening, “It’s a good thing Monarch Moth still hasn’t shown their face, because if they did, every Parisian would legally have the right to deck them on the spot.”

Alya, exasperated, groaned. “Seriously? Have they still done nothing?”

“Are they supposed to have?” Lucky asked cautiously.

She stammered, “Yes! What’s their motive? Why are they making akumas? There has to be a reason!” All of the questions that had been floating in her head for months now streamed out. The whole situation was nothing short of confusing; they were missing vital information about the war against Monarch Moth.

Spots glanced at her partner before responding, “And if there isn’t?”

“Then--!” Alya began shouting. What did they do if they couldn’t gather that knowledge? “Then I don’t know.”

The details didn’t add up. Why show prejudice against adults, but not give a motive? Why do any of it? Why why why?

What was it all for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, trying to articulate an overarching mystery: oh yeah, it's all coming together
> 
> Thank you for reading! And thank you Panic! At the Disco for the album Pray for the Wicked, you have written me some good bops.


	7. Liar, Liar, Pants Made of Sand

Alya loved her husband. She’d known him for over thirty-five years and married him twenty-six ago (and counting). She knew that he liked his sandwiches cut into four triangles and hated the smell of oranges. She knew that he loved Studio Ghibli movies and often dreamed of giant onions. She knew that he had a fondness for reporters, a fact she pretended to not understand and ignore that it likely was related to him falling for her when she was still one of them.

She knew when something was bothering him.

It came out in the quiet moments, when they simply existed in the same space as people living together were ought to do. When Alya had a book out and he his tablet and headphones. When she watched TV and he cooked dinner. It lay in the slight furrow of his eyebrows. It lay in the miniscule frown marring his lips. It was obvious through the years of love and devotion between the two.

Most of the time, Alya didn’t interfere. Nino didn’t need or want an overbearing mother; he was a full grown adult capable of asking for help when required. She let him parse out his own problems in his own time, and he let her do the same. They often came to each other of their volition anyways. 

It was a Sunday afternoon. Sundays were sleepy days. Nino always had DJ gigs on both Friday and Saturday evenings, keeping him out late into the night, so he slept in late. Alya had no real excuses to also stay in her jammies, but when she didn’t make plans, she had no real reason to get dressed.

She sat on the couch, watching some TV show she was only marginally invested in. When Nino shuffled into the living room in shorts and a t-shirt to join her on the sofa, Alya scooted over to make room. The show continued to play, and they stared at the screen, watching. It didn’t really matter what was playing. 

She set an arm over his shoulders and noticed their stiffness. Out of the corner of her vision, she spotted a tinge of redness to his eyes. Alya asked, “Bad dream?”

“...Yeah.” Nino’s head nodded, slow and unconscious and tired.

“Ah. Those darn giant onions.”

A puff of laughter sprang from Nino, and she kissed the top of his head.

Of course, they both knew that hadn’t been the center of his nightmare. A huge vegetable wasn’t what had left him so distraught. But if they both knew it, why say it? It was understood. Knowledge didn’t need to be shared between people who already knew it.

During the initial reign of akuma attacks, it seemed those around Alya were akumatized left and right. (That wasn’t inaccurate, considering how many of her classmates Hawkmoth transformed into villains.) In the months of this second era, however, that couldn’t be further from the case. No one at her work had fallen victim to Monarch Moth yet. She suspected that there would be widespread panic when that inevitably happened, as most of her coworkers had moved to Paris after Hawkmoth’s defeat. It was only her and Leslie Batteux who remembered his reign. Once the rest of them realized how vulnerable they all were… It would be a less than pretty picture while they reevaluated. 

Alya slid into her desk’s wheelie chair and breathed in her cappuccino’s warm scent. Her coworkers milled about, chatting tiredly before the word day began. She listened in on the conversation, absorbing the sleepy Monday morning atmosphere. Sofie’s son had the stomach flu, keeping her up all night. Toby’s father had started a garden. Justine’s girlfriend had proposed, and she was showing off the ring to anyone who would listen. Leslie…

Where was Leslie?

Alya rose from her seat and approached the window. The sky, which had previously been lightening with the rising sun, had begun to darken once more. As if the night was restaking its claim on the world, refusing to give its hold over to the morning.

As she realized what must be happening, something began trickling onto her head. A quick reach up with her hand filled her palm with golden sand. Familiarity tickled her mind, but then the sand was pouring from the ceiling onto the floor. It pooled around their feet before the piles… They moved and coagulated and took on color. A towering grandfather clock grew behind Toby. Next to him, Justine faced a red-haired woman demanding she return a ring. Creepiest of all, a giant spider twitched out of the sand and advanced toward Sofie, who screamed. 

Nothing formed next to Alya, and she counted her blessings for that. She turned back toward the window to see a dark blue figure riding on top of a satchel slowly flying away from her building. Gold sand dripped from both the satchel and the man, pouring onto the buildings below. This was just a villain. No need for a full panic. 

Even if the villain was creating nightmares for everyone in Paris.

Alya spun back to her coworkers. Could these sand creatures be hurt? It was time to find out. She grabbed her precious wheelie chair and hurled it at the huge spider. Its body splattered around the office, luckily just as sand and not squishy innards. 

That was a good sign; destruction was possible.

Next… ohoho, was that a scissors she saw? Alya snatched it from Justine’s desk and dashed across the room to the grandfather clock, which loomed over Toby’s curled form. Its ominous ticking grounded to a halt when she dragged the scissors through its woodwork. It felt like real oak, she noted, but had none of its sturdiness.

It was quick work, decimating it back into sand. 

“Thank, God,” Toby muttered from the floor, “Its ticking was making me way too aware of the passage of time.”

Alya grabbed one final tool of destruction: an empty recycling bin. She slammed it down on Sofie’s fake fiance, and with enough kicking, it too burst apart into sand. 

The office was covered in that golden sand; it looked as though a desert had exploded inside of it. The four journalists gathered themselves, all panting heavily.

“Well,” Alya said, “that wasn’t so bad. At least they’re not reforming.”

That got her a look from Sophie. “You’re going to jinx us.”

Another glance around the room told them that no, the creatures were staying destroyed, regardless of her loose words.

Justine gingerly picked up her scissors from the floor. “Alya… that was badass.”

“Nah,” she shrugged her coworker off, “But that villain… I’m going to follow and see what I can find.”

“You’re doing  _ what _ \--” Sofie demanded. 

But Alya had already grabbed her purse from her desk. “Gotta go, bye!” She dashed to the staircase.

After shooting a text to Lucky and Spots detailing what she had gathered about the villain, Alya zoomed to the ground floor and out onto the street. Now, she didn’t normally chase after akuma victims. Not since her youth, at least. That kind of thing was for the superheroes, and Alya had upgraded to mentor status. 

The difference here was that Leslie hadn’t shown up for work that morning.

Leslie was a lot of things: a scaredy cat, a coffee lover, an eyeliner aficionado, etc. But above anything else, he was punctual. Alya had never seen him arrive at any event later than ten minutes before the scheduled time. In order for him to be late for work, even on a Monday morning… it would take a crisis.

Being akumatized certainly fit that bill.

Alya ran down the street, following the sandy trail. Up ahead, she spotted a familiar figure dashing in her direction.

“Nino?” she shouted.

“Alya!” He tackled her in a hug, halting her in the middle of the road.

She enjoyed the feeling for just a moment before pulling back and cradling his head in her hands, checking him over for injuries. “Are you okay? What are you doing out here?”

To avoid eye contact, Nino glanced to the ground. “I’m fine, I promise. Just… got a little scared.”

“That’s okay, that’s okay.” Alya moved her palms to his shoulders to reassure him. “I’m following the villain, you want to find some place to hide until the akuma is captured?”

He shook his head and gave her a small smile. “No, I’m coming with you.”

“Okay.” She smiled back.

They dashed forward, hand in hand. It wasn’t hard to chase after the villain; screams of terror heralded his path.

“Does this villain seem familiar to you?” Alya called as they ran down the street.

“I don’t think so,” Nino said. “There was that one dream villain, but they sat on a cloud above the Eiffel Tower, and they just put everyone to sleep.”

She searched her memory, trying to recall the past akuma victims. There had definitely been a dream villain, Alya knew that. The details flitted out of her brain’s reach, and what Nino was saying made sense. Lots of villains visited the Eiffel Tower, why not one more? 

“Oh, okay,” was all she said in reply.

The couple turned a corner, and there he was. Right above their heads, he drifted slowly along on top of his satchel.

“The Sandman just checked in, now nightmares can begin.” 

“Holy shit,” Alya whispered. “It’s been a while.”

“Really?” Nino sent her a questioning look. “Spots told me that you tail their fights a lot.”

What???

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said slowly. “The last fight I was at was one of Mr. Pigeon’s returns, but that’s only because I was in the area, and I immediately evacuated.”

He shrugged and made the universal ‘I dunno’ noise. “That’s just what she told me.”

Up ahead, Lucky and Spots appeared on a roof. Even from a distance, Alya could see their jumpy body language. Clearly, they had encountered their own nightmares already.

When Sandman spotted the superhero duo, a fight broke out. She grabbed Nino’s hand and tugged him forward. “C’mon, we’re getting closer.”

Despite his reassurances, she couldn’t shake a growing feeling of familiarity. There had been far too many akumas in the past for her to keep track of all of them, but this one’s powers and abilities… She was sure she had seen them before. 

“Woah, Alya,” Nino pulled her back, back to their spot behind a corner. “You know Marinette doesn’t want you to help out in the battles.”

“I’m not going to--” She stopped and turned to face the man next to her. “No.”

He gave a confused laugh. “No what?”

His face looked correct. He had all the right freckles and blemishes. His eyes were the right shade of golden brown.

“Marinette is scared that we’re not helping the kids enough. She gave me the Fox Miraculous so that I  _ could _ help out in battles.”

But that was not her husband.

“Well… well that’s just because--” Its eyes flickered, blinking nervously.

Her fist flew into its jaw. “Save it for someone who cares.”

If the lies weren’t evident enough, golden sand spilled from its chin. 

“Get the  _ fuck _ away from me.” Alya hated how her voice broke in that moment. How could she be so stupid? Of course she would still get a nightmare. Sandman wouldn’t just skip over her.

Why did it have to be so personal though? Why couldn’t she have just gotten a giant spider?

Why did she believe all those lies?

Her pounding feet against the concrete was the first sign that she was running. Alya found herself dashing away from that  _ thing _ and toward the battle.

“Lucky charm!” Spots called above her head.

She nearly slipped on the sand.

“Lucky! I need your baton!”

She rounded a corner, and there another  _ thing _ was.

“Alya, I saw that nightmare that was chasing you--” This one was impersonating Adrien.

And Alya was running again away from the battle, away from the  _ things _ . She needed to find someplace that Sandman hadn’t been yet.

A third one walked out from a shop. Other than the sand still rushing to form its feet, it looked exactly like Marinette. “Alya! What are you doing here?”

Her shoes drummed against the ground beneath. She would not stop running. Not when everyone around her was a possible nightmare. Not until--

Ladybugs flew around her, brushing against her arms like kisses. They were gone as fast as they came, and they took all the sand with them. 

Alya crumpled to the ground. “Thank God,” she sobbed. “That was too much, thank God.”

She called in sick to work for that day. It wasn’t like she would’ve been any help anyways, may as well stay home and be unproductive there. Confirming Alya’s suspicions, Justine would text and let her know that Leslie had been Sandman. Apparently, he’d gotten mugged on his way to work and totally freaked out, which allowed him to be akumatized. He didn’t come in for work either, and considering the circumstances, no one could really blame him. 

When Alya arrived home, she found Nino curled up on the couch with his face pressed into a pillow. Shaken up as she might have been, she still pushed away her own anxiety to sit next to him and place an arm around him. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

But he just shook his head. She wouldn’t get a word out of him about it for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I didn't make this clear, Alya's fear is trusting those she shouldn't and believing a bunch of lies. 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to that one ten minute Hadestown mashup, it is a Beauty and I listened to it on repeat.
> 
> Ima be real with you guys, this chapter initially was a bit longer. Originally "Nino" and Alya were going to help out Lucky and Spots by fighting of their nightmares so that the superheroes could focus on the villain (Spots' was an evil version of the couple and Lucky's was a swarm of papers each with an unsolvable problem on it if you were wondering) and Alya was going to make an impromptu flamethrower, it was going to be Rad.
> 
> But when writing this chapter I was looking at my outline (which, fun fact, is literally just a bullet fic version of this story that I write the chapter in before translating that over into this) and I realized that it completely goes against what I've established. Alya wouldn't hop into a battle she wasn't invited into; she wants to let Spots and Lucky be their own superheroes. 
> 
> This doesn't change the story at all, I just thought it was interesting and that someone might like to hear about it.
> 
> Thanks for reading everybody! And thank you to every single person who has left a comment so far, it makes my day, you all mean so much to me.


	8. I Can't Help Falling for You

“What was it like being Rena Rouge?” Spots asked.

She, Lucky, and Alya lay on the floor of her living room, Uno cards splayed out before them. They had been playing for about an hour so far, and would likely continue to for another hour. A white board with a score tally written on it sat propped against the wall.

Alya set down her cards, head deep in thought. “It was… like flying. I loved every second of it. But you guys are doing what I did back in the day right now, you know it’s like.”

“Yeah, but--” Spots placed a green two down on the pile. “We have this very distant villain with no apparent motivation and no coordinated planning. Hawkmoth and Mayura seem a lot more threatening from a later perspective.”

Alya played a green seven.

“Hey, don’t downplay our efforts!” Lucky said. “Just for that--” She placed a “Draw 4.”

Spots made a face as she begrudgingly took more cards. “I’m not downplaying what we do! I’m just curious about the past!”

“I choose red.”

“Hawkmoth and Mayura were definitely pieces of work.” Alya placed down a red three. “You guys learn about this stuff at school right? What do you already know?”

“Uhhh, Hawkmoth wanted the Cat and Ladybug Miraculouses in order to bring back his dead wife, I think. And Mayura was his secretary who wanted to help him, but for some reason using the Peacock Miraculous made her sick?” Lucky answered. “It’s your turn, by the way.”

“His wife wasn’t dead, she was just also sick because of the Peacock,” Spots corrected while she drew a card. 

Alya told them, “That’s right. The Peacock Miraculous was corrupted, so its users kept getting fatally ill.” She also drew a card, but then played it.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lucky said. “What’s corruption, how does that happen?”

“Well, I don’t know all the details. There aren’t that many sources on the Miraculous, and even fewer that talk about corruption. Most of it’s inferring and trying to connect the dots.” She did her best to explain. While she spoke, the three continued to play and draw cards. “From what I’ve gathered, it’s a combination of emotional and physical backlash. Some sort of combination of negative emotion toward the Miraculous you’re wearing and trying to harm it. Whatever it is, it causes all the remnants of that badness to stick to it and pass it on to future users, presumably until some cleansing ceremony.”

“And… and that causes the Peacock Miraculous to make people sick?” Spots asked, trying to put together all the information.

Lucky played a yellow five. 

“The assumption is that the previous holder was fatally ill and angry that the Miraculous couldn’t cure her.” Alya nodded.

Spots, throwing down the last of her cards, shouted, “I win!”

“What?! But you didn’t call Uno!” Lucky groaned, throwing down her deck in defeat.

“Alya was talking, I didn’t want to interrupt!”

The speaker in question grabbed the white board and added a tally mark. “Spots holds her lead, with myself and Lucky following.”

In response to this, Lucky threw herself even further onto the floor and moaned, “Just wait until we play Monopoly. Then, then you’ll all be sorry.”

It was a quiet, Sunday evening. They were washing dishes, and Lucky showed no signs of appearing, so it seemed it would only be Nino, Spots, and Alya. As usual, the former two scrubbed the plates, silverware, and cups while the latter dried.

Spots blurted her question, as if it should’ve shocked the couple. “Can I stay here for the next couple of days?”

Maybe it should’ve been surprising, her mother kicking her out of the house again.

Well, no. Alya knew enough about the woman to not put anything past her. The surprise was that Spots had gathered up the courage to ask them. It was by no means unwelcome.

Nino placed a hand on her shoulder. “Of course.”

“We’ll get the guest bedroom set up right now.” Alya smiled at her.

It wasn’t until Spots was set up in her quarters and the couple was getting ready to sleep that Nino finally let on about his feelings.

“Why do adults suck?” he asked mournfully.

Alya gave him a weird look from her spot in the doorway. “Babe,  _ we’re _ adults.”

“Well, yeah.” He stood in front of the sink, teeth brushed, and then he turned toward her. “But you remember Adrien’s old man. Besides the whole Hawkmoth business, he sucked as a dad. He didn’t even let Adrien have a birthday party! Why can’t parents just… treat their kids with basic human decency?”

When she walked behind him and placed her arms around him, Nino looked like a lost kid. His eyes shone wide with confusion. They stared in the mirror at each other, just absorbing each other’s presence.

“I don’t know,” she told him. “I don’t know.”

He picked up a bottle of hand soap and began fidgeting with it. “It’s not fair. They don’t deserve it,  _ no one _ deserves that shit.”

And Alya hugged him. She hugged him tight, pressing all the comfort and love into the embrace as she could. Because she didn’t have answers to the questions she asked herself every time Spots mentioned her mother or Adrien mentioned his father.

It was too late when she noticed the purple butterfly flitting down from the ceiling and into the soap.

“Shit!” she cried, throwing Nino away from her.

Alya loved her husband. She loved him so much. She loved him enough to get the fuck away and toward help.

“Alright, dudes, let’s get this party started!”

Alya ran into the hallway and banged on the guest room door. “SPOTS, TRANSFORM NOW.”

“What?” A muffled called through the door.

But she was already dashing further away, the Bubbler was coming.

She made it to the living room before he caught up with her. His design hadn’t changed a bit; it was still bubbly and pastel and  _ terrifying _ . Alya knew that there would be no escape for her, but she could buy Spots some time.

“Nino--”

“I am the Bubbler!” he hollered.

“What are you hoping to achieve here? You’re going to bubble every adult in Paris, bubble up a bunch of innocents in order to get a couple of bad apples?”

She knew she couldn’t sway him. She knew a lot about this situation, and how ultimately, her actions meant nothing. This wasn’t Nino anymore. There wasn’t enough of him left.

But confusing him was her best idea for a distraction, and distraction was the only card left in her deck. God, Alya wished this could be like Uno, where having one remaining card was a good thing.

“Children will control their own lives from now on!” the Bubbler roared. “Then, they will see their parents’ failings!” Bottle of soap in hand, he stood menacingly in the doorway. She countered his position by placing herself behind the armrest of the sofa. 

“If your plan is to get rid of adults, are you going to bubble yourself?” Alya asked.

The Bubbler scoffed. “Of course not, someone has to make sure more grownups don’t come in!”

In the hallway behind him, a figure in red and black crept into view. She forced herself not to react, to maintain eye contact with the villain. She said, “So they’re not really free of adults then.”

Confusion crossed his face, like he was actually considering her argument. “I, uh…” But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. “ENOUGH.” 

The Bubbler lunged toward her and squeezed his soap bottle. A translucent soap bubble formed around Alya, and then she was floating up, up, and away.

It was up to Spots now; she’d done all she could.

The Parisian skyline was a gorgeous sight. The buildings glittered below Alya, dotted with world famous landmarks and iridescent bodies of water. Above her, the sky shone a deep blue with golden stars peeking out where the light pollution didn’t cover their light.

It was a shame she was likely floating towards death.

A soap bubble trapped Alya. Granted, it was a magic soap bubble, but this situation would go one of three ways. 

Number One: Alya’s prison popped, and she could plummet to her doom. From this height, there would be no chance of survival.

Number Two: Alya ran out of air, and she would suffocate to death. This would be a much slower, more painful way to go. If it came to it, she would purposely attempt to burst her bubble.

Number Three: Spots and Lucky defeated the Bubbler before either of the former could happen. She could hope for this outcome, but at this point, it was out of her control.

Speaking of the superheroes, she shot the two a text explaining what she knew. (Lucky’s contact was affectionately labeled as “Cat Sitter.”) There was a villain called the Bubbler. His akuma was in his bottle of soap. He had a vendetta against adults, specifically parents. 

Her fingers hovered over her phone’s keyboard as she debated sharing one last piece of information. Would it be helpful for them to know Nino was the akumatized victim, or distracting?

She would rather prepare them than hide. Knowledge was a tool, and Alya would give them every single tool she could.

_ The Bubbler is Nino, don’t let that throw you. Your job is to save him, not take it easy on a villain. _

When she put her phone away, Alya continued to consider how this bubble story would end for her. It was a grim truth of the Ladybug Miraculous, but it honestly didn’t matter which outcome occurred. At the end of the battle, Spots would restore the world to its previous state, and Alya would be fine. Sure, dying wouldn’t be a pleasant memory to have, but ( it wouldn’t be the first ) it wasn’t permanent. 

There was something oddly calming about knowing what would happen with such certainty. As Alya stared at the slowly shrinking city below her, she couldn’t help but admire it. This glowing place had been built long before her, and it would stand long after her too, regardless of her fate. 

And she would be fine. The situation was out of her control, but it would be okay. Now, her job was to enjoy the view, take some once in a lifetime photos, and try her best to not worry about those fighting the battle.

Oh, shit, Spots was going to blame herself for Nino’s akumatization, wasn’t she? While technically her presence had inspired the emotion at fault, there was a difference between someone being mad at you and someone feeling anger on your behalf. How was Alya going to explain to her it wasn’t her fault Nino cared about her wellbeing?

Lucky… She wasn’t sure how much she knew about Spots’ home life. She was going to be confused. Confused as to why an adult would feel such rage against other grownups. Confused why it would be Nino of all people with that vendetta. Alternatively, Lucky was going to learn something about her partner that Spots that she hadn’t wanted to share. Or maybe she already knew, and she could comfort the Ladybug-themed superhero. Alya could hope for that final option, but considering how much effort it had taken on her and Nino’s behalf to get the information they did have, she didn’t know how likely that was.

Speaking of her husband, Nino was going to be so mad at himself after Spots purified the akuma. He was going to blame himself, like a selfless idiot, thinking he should’ve had a better hold on his emotions.

Alya  _ hated _ Hawkmoth. She  _ hated _ Monarch Moth. She  _ hated _ anyone who would weaponize negative emotions. She  _ hated _ that they would take these vulnerable, ugly moments and prey on them. 

Negative emotions aren’t inherently bad. There’s a reason humans developed with them in our emotional spectrum. We get angry because it prevents us from being taken advantage of, from letting others treat us like a doormat. We feel loss because it means we’ll hold onto what and who we care about. We get jealous to protect our relations with other people and to demand the best for ourselves. They don’t feel good, but they are an essential part of being human.

So much for not worrying and just enjoying the view.

Alya tried to reposition herself to better see the world below her when--

Uh oh.

Her bubble popped.

And she was plummeting toward the ground. 

Alya didn’t scream. She couldn’t. As the air ripped past her skin her lungs could barely suck in oxygen, nevermind scream. 

Her phone was missing, she noticed absently. It had likely flown out of her hand due to the wind. The Miraculous Ladybug cure would return it to her, hopefully with the photos she had taken.

The ground was getting closer, but Alya was still far above any buildings. She hoped she landed on a flat rooftop. Then, no one would find her body. No need to distress anyone unnecessarily.

This was going to hurt, she knew. Sure, it was better than suffocation, and she stood by her decision to purposely burst the bubble had it come to that, but this wasn’t going to be fun either. 

Alya was going to be in a lot of pain, but hopefully it would be quick. Before she knew it, Spots would revive her, and it would all be a bad memory. Hopefully.

As the Earth rushed toward her, this was only a small comfort. It was enough to keep her from contemplating what she could’ve done differently and all she had wanted to do with her life. Because Alya would get hers back. 

Hopefully.

A skyscraper was at her right, glass reflecting the bright of the city’s nightlife. If she reached out, she could touch it. 

Alya didn’t do that because at this speed, the friction would shave off her fingers down the bone.

It looked like she would be hitting the middle of the street. Not ideal, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. 

This was going to hurt.

All her bones were going to shatter. All her guts were going to spill out onto the road.

This was going to  _ hurt _ .

And that knowledge was awful.

But then, in the distance-- a red swarm? Was that what she thought it was?

It moved quickly, and it scooped her up in a fluttery embrace. In an instant, Alya found herself standing in a park with Lucky, Spots, and Nino in front of her.

Oh thank  _ God _ . She had not wanted to do that.

“What…?” Nino glancing around, clearly disoriented.

“You’re okay!” Lucky exclaimed and scooped him up in a hug. 

Spots, a tight smile on her face, joined the embrace. 

Patting her pocket, Alya found her phone, returned by Miraculous magic. Fuck yeah. She quickly snapped a photo of them. This would definitely make up for any erased images. 

“Hey, guys,” she called.

Nino poked his head up. “Alya.” His voice cracked in relief. “I didn’t hurt you? You’re okay?”

She walked over and put her arms around the people she had grown to love. “Well, I had a bit of a scare at the end where my bubble popped on me, but this little munchkin--” Alya tilted her head toward Spots. “--sent out her magic bug swarm before anything too bad could happen.”

Lucky’s eyes widened in fear. “You  _ fell _ ?”

She shushed the superhero. “I’m okay, I’m okay, let’s just enjoy this hug.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, it was Nino's turn to get some drama.
> 
> For this chapter, the actual Hadestown soundtrack served me well. 10 out of 10, would recommend. This chapter is actually coming out a bit earlier than I planned, I just got really excited about writing a portion of the next chapter, so it got done super fast and now this one gets to come out early :D


	9. Conspiracy Board Time

Alya had finally done it. They said that she wouldn’t, that she’d procrastinate it into oblivion, but she's proved them wrong. She crashed through her front door, glowing in victory. “Bow before me, for I have completed my quest!”

Spots was waiting for her on the couch, backpack resting on the floor. Various worksheets were splayed on the coffee table in front of her, and on her legs folded criss-cross-applesauce sat a laptop. She turned her head toward Alya, not moving any of her schoolwork. “You’re running late,” the superhero noted. “It’s six o’clock.”

Alya held out two shiny metal objects. “I finally copied the house key. One for you--” She placed one down on the coffee table. “--and one for Lucky.”

Cheering ensued.

Nino was in the kitchen preparing dinner. Normally, Spots would’ve been in there helping him, but she had a chemistry project due the next day. Alya joined her in working on it, although she probably wasn’t much help. There was a reason she hadn’t majored in science. 

“Why are there so many trends, this seems excessive,” she muttered.

Spots just smiled. “But you have to admire that Meendeleev put the periodic table together without knowing any of that, and yet it still works.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Soon, Nino’s finished in the kitchen, and they all joined him in setting up the table. Alya poured drinks, and Spots grabbed silverware, and Nino brought in the casserole.

They were a well oiled machine.They fit together like gears, all clicked together and turning in unison.

And dinner was good. They talked about school and work and hobbies and whatever else came to mind. 

But it was only a few days after the Bubbler’s appearance. They still hadn’t talked about it. Spots hadn’t stopped visiting, and the three were joking and talking like normal, so it should be  _ normal _ , but… What wasn’t being said permeated the room like a foul odor. Alya wanted to say something, to clear the air, but Nino took action himself.

“Spots, I want to talk to you about…” He paused as he tried to put together the words. “...about my akumitization.” Alya watched him speak. She observed his lips press tight together. She listened to the controlled firmness of his voice. She didn’t say anything, instead letting the scene unfold before her.

“Look, I know what you’re going to say.” She picked at her casserole with her fork, tugging apart its layers. “I know that you don’t want me to blame myself for it. But you got akumatized because of  _ me _ . The Bubbler had a vendetta against adults, don’t think that I didn’t connect the dots--”

“Hey,” he cut her off, his voice as soft as wool, “Spots, I won’t deny that your mother’s treatment of you is what upset me. But  _ sweetheart _ , that’s her, not you. That’s not your fault.”

Alya listened to her husband, listened to his voice  _ give _ in his intent to tell this teenager she was not responsible for the consequences of the adults around her.

“But if I hadn’t brought you into my shit--”

She listened to Spots too, listened to her try to explain her brutalized world view that she had to carry the world on her shoulders.

“Then, you would’ve been left to wander the streets in the middle of winter. And I would rather become the Bubbler a thousand times over than have that happen.” Nino finished the argument with the resolve he’d developed as Carapace, that practiced steadfastness to those he loved.

Spots stared down at her plate, eyes cloudy. “You don’t mean that.”

He stood from his seat and crossed over to Spots. Nino kneeled. “I do.”

Alya watched this exchange from her own chair. She had been right about Spots’ faulting herself, but her worries over Nino had been for nothing. He was taking it all in stride, even encouraging Spots along the way. She couldn’t help but be proud of her famil-

Of the people around her.

Nino enveloped Spots in a hug, and from the tightness of the latter’s arms circling his chest, it was clear it wasn’t unwelcome.

When she pulled away, a full minute later, she glanced toward Alya. 

Later in the week, on Friday, Alya sat alone in her living room, reading a new novel. As was typical for later days in the week, Nino had a DJ gig to attend, and less typical, Spots was also busy with her civilian life. 

However, Alya wasn’t alone for the whole of the evening because at around seven p.m., another superhero climbed through her dining room window.

“Hey, Alya!” Lucky called from the sill.

“Hold up! Two things!” Alya stood and held up her hands in a “halt” motion as stuck her head through the doorway to greet her. Lucky was all the way indoors by this point and closing the window behind her. “First, you’re late for dinner--”

“Hardy har har.”

“--Second, I got you something!” She turned and dashed to her bedroom. After some quick digging in her armoire’s drawers, Alya pulled out a small metal object. She ran back into her living room and held it out.

Lucky looked at her in amused, faux shock. “Did you finally--?”

“A key!” Alya exclaimed, and Lucky plucked it from her hand.

She admired it for a moment, holding it up the light, then slid it into a compartment in her baton with a pleased grin. “I can’t believe it. I’m officially a Césaire.”

“Don’t tell your parents, they’ll think I’m kidnapping you.” Alya laughed.

Lucky grabbed a deck of cards from a shelf. “I mean, you’re basically kidnapping Spots, may as well just add me to the pile, right?”

“Aren’t I justified in that case though?”

They walked into the kitchen and took seats across from each other. Speaking about Spots’ situation with Lucky… It was a cautious realm of conversation. Alya didn’t know how much she knew, and it wasn’t fair to Spots to let on anything she hadn’t shared. 

Lucky asked as she shuffled, “Garbage sound good?”

“Sounds great.” Alya flashed her a thumbs up. 

Lucky dealt the cards, and they began to play. After a few minutes of quiet concentration, the adult pointed out, “We haven’t talked much one-on-one since, well, you know.”

Since Alya had apologized for almost figuring out her identity.

“You’re right, we haven’t.” Lucky looked up pensively. “Spots is almost always here, and even when she isn’t, Nino normally is.” It was a neutral observation. Alya didn’t regret having the other people her present, but she was glad to have some individual time with Lucky. She had some things she wanted to check in on, boundaries allowing.

Alya asked while drawing a card to start her turn, “Let me know if I’m completely out of bounds, but how are things with your parents?”

“Ah, well, you know,” she said. “I haven’t told them anything, and I don’t think they have a clue.”

“Is that good?” Alya wasn’t trans. She didn’t have any personal experiences to draw on and relate with. So she would have to use her words and gather intel the old fashioned way. That wasn’t such a bad thing.

“I--” Lucky paused. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re turn,” Alya told her. “And elaborate on that.” Now, she was nosy, but not so nosy as to believe that the superhero’s closet status was her business. However, she did  _ make _ it her business to keep her teenagers from sitting on their emotions for too long.

Lucky thought for a moment before continuing. She fidgeted with the cards in front of her, making sure they lined up. “I think it’d freak me out a bit if they figured it out. Takes it out of my control, you know? But I wish that it would occur to them, that what’s actually happening wasn’t such an obscure possibility.” She flipped over card after card, until one revealed a Jack.

“That makes sense.” Alya nodded. She started her own turn. “Do you think you’ll tell them?” Again, the answer didn’t really matter, it made no difference to her. But she wanted to check in with Lucky. They hadn’t talked much individually in a while, and Alya wanted to make sure the superhero’s inner thoughts had an outlet.

“Eventually, yeah. But it’s a lot to spring on them. Not only am I trans, but I’ve been moonlighting as a superhero, and I stole Dad’s ring, tadaaaa,” she answered. 

Alya thought for a moment. “Do you think you’d be able to tell them just the one thing? Probably not the superhero half, but do you think you’d be able to tell them you’re a girl without telling them you’re Lucky? That might break up the stress a little.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Lucky conceded while drawing a card. “But I’m pretty sure they’d figure it out pretty quickly after. And even if I was just telling them that, it’s still really...”

“Overwhelming?”

“Scary.” She shivered.

“Hey,” Alya laid down a card and left her hand there, firm, “they’ll be supportive of it,  _ all _ of it. Your family loves you a lot.”

Lucky sighed, blowing hair out of her face. “Consciously, I know that. I’m safe at home. But...”

“You’re still afraid?” Alya prompted. “That’s okay; you’re allowed to be.” Fear was a tricky emotion. Knowledge could tame and minimize it,  _ sometimes _ . Not even close to all the time. Fear was finicky and illogical and primal. It was designed to keep humans on their guard, to prepare for the worst even when it was unlikely. So most people couldn’t just get rid of it even when they knew better, because it was  _ meant _ to stick around and whisper in your mind.

“I can’t shake all the what-if’s. It’s easier not to tell them, to hide.” She looked toward the adult’s cards. “Finish your turn, I’ve almost won.”

“That’s why I’m procrastinating!” Alya joked and groaned and then did as she was told. “You know, you always have a place to stay here. Spots and you can have a sleepover!” She didn’t let her voice waver or soften, instead boistering it with casual confidence. 

Lucky quirked an eyebrow at her. “Spots sleeps over here sometimes?”

“Ah, shit, probably shouldn’t have said that.” She winced as she finished her turn. “But yeah, we gotta take care of our girl.”

The superhero began hers. “No, I’m glad she has somewhere else to go to. I’ve figured some stuff out, though Spots doesn’t like to talk about it. She wants to be a paragon of righteousness and all that, you know, and I think she thinks that letting on about that stuff too much will ruin that image.”

Alya hummed in acknowledgement.

Lucky kept talking, card game forgotten. Her eyes took on a degree of softness that tickled Alya’s memory. “Spots is an idiot. Like her tragic anime backstory could change that she’s kind and selfless and...” The superhero gave her a look. “Have you seen her rescue children? They’re always crying and upset because of the attacks, and Spots knows just how to calm them down. It’s not fair; I’m like eighty percent sure she’s an only child.”

Something about her soft tone of voice… her small smile… the fond eyes…

Alya burst into laughter. Oh, this was too good. If only Nino were here, he’d find this hilarious. This kind of irony was exactly what she needed to lift her spirits.

“What’s so funny?!” Lucky demanded, slamming her hand down on the table.

“You--” She wheezed. “--are just like your dad.” Why couldn’t Lucky be out to her parents? The universe was cruel for not letting her spill all of this to Adrien.

The superhero sputtered, “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Alya tampered down her giggling enough to say, “I take back my offer of a sleepover, I don’t need any of that business happening in my house.”

“What are you--” Lucky’s eyes widened in realization. She’d figured out what Alya had figured out. “No. No no no, Alya  _ no please. _ ”

She gave a shit-eating grin, “It’s too late, I’ve figured you out, no backsies.”

The superhero groaned, throwing her head onto the table and burying it in her arms. Though slightly muffled, a question crawled out of the pile, “Is it really that obvious?”

Now, Alya tried to be an honest person where secret identities weren’t involved, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t cushion the truth. “Don’t worry, both your parents were just as bad.”

“That’s not helpful.”

She gave one final laugh. “Hey, come on, you still gotta finish your turn. You’re about to win the round.”

Alya sighed to herself. She was really letting herself go, wasn’t she?

Laying on the dinner table in front of her instead of a deck of cards or a game board was a corkboard, pins, photos, a notebook full of lists and details, and most importantly, a ball of red yarn. She pinned up her list of all the recent akumatization victims with accompanying photos where available. Lucky and Spots were right; all of them were adults, with not even a baby-faced twenty-year-old among them. 

Why was Monarch Moth targeting adults, Alya wondered. Did they have a rule of not traumatizing kids? 

Memories of the Bubbler’s first appearance surged to the surface, and with it another possibility. Was this a child? Could Monarch Moth be an angry, confused kid?

She stared at her list of victims, and there was something… familiar about all of them. It seemed everything rang with familiarity these days, from Lucky’s crush on Spots to Sandboy’s powerset and design.

Alya stared at the photo of Gigantitan. A purple bodysuit with lime accents… that name…

The man’s name had been August. 

She snatched her phone from the counter and pulled up the Ladyblog. Her fingers typed clumsily into the search option. Could it be--?

A poster dated over thirty-five years ago displayed a baby akumatized into Gigantian. A humongous being wore a lilac onesie split up by the occasional green section, the youngest ever akumatized. Alya glanced back toward her board where the youngest of the second generation of akumatizations sat. 

She began searching for more villains on her archived blog, checking each against her corkboard. Match, match, match.

Oh, fuck.

They weren’t targeting adults. They were targeting those who had been akumatized before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for making it through another chapter. In this week's look into my music tastes, I will report that Shrek the Musical is Far too good for the meme the original movie has become. Tomorrow's my birthday which will either mean double productivity or zero productivity for writing, we'll find out! 
> 
> As always comments both positive and constructive are welcome!


	10. Sharing the Tea (with Cupcakes!)

On the outside, Alya stood stoically, hunched over her corkboard of research. She was still as stone, and her eyes stared wide.

On the inside, Alya was nothing short of shrieking due to the thrill. Monarch Moth was only attacking those who had been akumatized previously. She had checked and double checked and triple checked, and every single one matched up. Not a single outlier. This wasn’t an accident; it meant something. Alya had cracked the mystery a little further open, and she could feel her body buzzing in excitement. Holy shit, she was  _ learning _ . They had new information on Monarch Moth.

In a clatter of motion, Alya found herself grasping for her phone and slamming her fingers into the phone app. A ringing tone beeped out of it, and she waited for the other end to pick up.

“Hey, Alya! What--”

“Marinette!” she cried, feeling like she was bursting at the seams. “Can you come over? Like, right now? I just figured something out and Nino’s not home and I--”

There was no hesitation. Before she could even finish, Marinette cut her off, “See you in ten.” Then she hung up.

It was supposed to be a fifteen minute drive between their two homes, Alya noted, but she had no doubt that her best friend would make it in her promised time. She had before. Marinette may have been chronically late as a student, but when it came to the people she cared about? She was a force of nature.

Alya grabbed her laptop from the living room and pulled herself back into the dining room and into a chair. She then opened the Ladyblog, searching for each villain and saving a photo to her desktop.

By the time Marinette arrived in her promised ten minutes, Alya had printed pictures of every single photographed villain from thirty-five years ago. She was just finishing pinning the last one into the corkboard when she heard her front door squeak open, and seconds later, Marinette advanced through the dining room door and to Alya’s side. 

“Alright, what’s happening, what do you got?” she asked, and the latter explained all that she had determined. Alya pointed at the photos as she spoke, taking her red yarn and connecting the pins until the corkboard resembled a spiderweb. Even in Marinette’s casual clothes, her pale pink blouse and loose jeans, her hair pulled back into a half ponytail, she looked like a general on the battlefield. She stared down at the board as if it was a plan of attack, noting each detail and examining it for potential fallbacks or weakness, and then weighing each. (And Alya had seen her do exactly that.)

As Alya continued explaining her points, Marinette’s eyes widened as she began to see what she was laying down, and extrapolating as to what it all meant. When the presenter finished, Marinette nodded slowly; the gears of her mind still turned in her head when she spoke. “Holy shit, I think you did it.”

And Alya grinned back at her. “We’re one step closer to finding our Monarch Moth.”

She’d had her data verified and proofread, and she couldn’t hold back her excitement any longer. Now, there was no need to really. These moments were why she adored journalism. She loved diving deep into topics and seeing where it led her, discovering information that no one had put together before. It was these moments where all the hard work paid off.

Of course, Alya was by no means done. There was still plenty more to learn about the villain, and she would need to communicate this to the superheroes. But that didn’t mean that she and Marinette couldn’t have some commemoratory cupcakes.

“I can’t believe you thought to bring food with you,” Alya said through a mouthful of cupcake. She sat at her kitchen table, Marinette across from her. They’d picked up the corkboard and laid it against the wall, clearing off the space.

Marinette shrugged, crumbs dotting her face like freckles. “I figured they would either be a good celebration or consolation.”

“You were right.” As Alya finished off her treat, she settled back into Planning Mode. “Alright, break over, let me grab napkins, and then we’re done.”

She did exactly that, and Marinette threw away the cupcake tins. Once they had resettled into their seats, Alya said, “So, we know that Monarch Moth is targeting previously akumatized victims, what do we do now?”

Marinette matched her disposition, shifting back into how she had entered the household. “I think we have a couple options here. It depends on how public you want to be about this. I assume you’re telling Spots and Lucky--”

She nodded firmly.

“--and of course Nino, but the real question is if you feel safe enough to publish it.”

It was a little weird, Marinette turning over the decision making to Alya. On a conscious level, she understood the sense in it: she was more involved in the situation, knew more about the Miraculous going-on’s. On a deeper level though? 

Rena Rouge had spent years following Ladybug’s orders. It had become second nature, listening to her and doing as she said. Because Ladybug was the strategist. Because Ladybug was a general leading her troops to battle. Because Ladybug knew the right thing to do, even when she doubted this fundamental truth of the universe. 

Alya and Marinette were equals in their friendship, but that didn’t mean that the former didn’t still have those life-saving instincts drilled into her brain and muscle memory. Going against them was doable, but awkward, like brushing her teeth with her nondominant hand. 

Alya made her decisions as she spoke. “I’ll tell Nino tomorrow. I’ll shoot the kids a text that we need them over after dinner ASAP. They likely would’ve come any way but--” She waved her hand flippantly. “It’s still good to ensure its urgency. Publishing it...”

“Do you think it’ll hurt Spots and Lucky if you let the public know?” Marinette directed.

After a pause, Alya shook her head. “I don’t think so. If anything, it’ll encourage those susceptible to move out of Paris. I’ll probably start drafting an article on it, but I want to talk it over with everyone else before I do anything beyond that.”

Marinette nodded, satisfied with this response.

Alya was too for that matter. She’d had her burst of excitement, and now, she had a plan of attack for the future, leaving her feeling secure. A good one-two punch of good feelings. 

Talks with Marinette tended to have that effect. A much younger her had been quite the worrier, a side of her that hadn’t entirely disappeared, but now, she’d gained the ability to think through her actions and exude a confidence that her teenage self had only manifested as Ladybug.

Alya was sure it was actually Ladybug’s fault that Marinette had grown in the way she did. Well, “fault” implied negativity, but Alya couldn’t help but be proud of the woman her girl had become. 

She waited until the next afternoon to let Nino know, and he took it in stride. His eyes just widened, and he told her “Oh my god, Alya you’ve figured it out.” Spots and Lucky were also easily caught up to speed by her corkboard. They had a couple more questions though. A few more concerns.

“Alya, what emotion would get you akumatized?” Spots asked. The adult wasn’t surprised at this question. She’d just seen Nino fall victim to Monarch Moth; it wasn’t unreasonable for her to not want the same for Alya.

“The times I got akumatized… they were born out of not understanding why others did the things they did,” she answered. 

Nino said, “The first time, wasn’t that with Chloe? She almost got you suspended, right?”

Alya nodded. “Yeah, I thought she was Ladybug--”

“She wasn’t, for the record,” he told Spots and Lucky.

“So I took a picture of the inside of her locker. Chloe tried to convince the principal to suspend me on the grounds of theft, despite the fact that I didn’t even touch her stuff.”

Lucky stared at the two. “Did… did she tell the principal that you took something?”

Nino shook his head. “Nope.”

“Then how--” she started, but Alya cut her off, not wanting to deal with that conversation. Chloe had been a brat, and there wasn’t much more to say about it. The past needed to rest.

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t felt those emotions in a long time,” she placated, making a smoothing motion with her hand. “But if Monarch Moth does get me, the akuma is in my phone.”

But other than their concerns for the adults, Spots and Lucky had many more for what this new information meant. They asked the same questions Alya had asked herself after making the discovery. What was the motive? Was it someone idolizing Hawkmoth, trying to continue his legacy? Was it someone wanting to create trouble but didn’t have the creativity for unique designs? (Unique was a kind word for Hawkmoth’s villains. Lady Wifi hadn’t looked half bad, but the Bubbler… Alya asked herself everyday how a famous fashion designer would put up with those “designs.”) 

When they exhausted their discussion on the possibilities of Monarch Moth, she asked a question of her own. “Okay, I didn’t want to do this without running it by you guys first, but would everyone be okay if I wrote an article releasing this information to the public?”

“What are the possible drawbacks if you do?” Spots said.

Before Alya could answer, Lucky spoke for her. “It would remove any secrecy about the situation. Monarch Moth would know that we know their targets, so we couldn’t use it in any tricks or traps.”

Nino considered the superhero’s words. Alya hadn’t given him a warning about this, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he had suspected this outcome. “But would letting people know that they are specifically at risk minimize attacks.”

“That’s my thought,” she said. “If people know that they’re being targeted, then they can take action themselves to prevent it.”

Spots continued the thought. “Plus, I know it would be relaxing for a lot of people to know that they don’t have to worry about feeling strong emotions.”

“That makes sense, I follow,” Lucky admitted, she turned toward Alya. “It sounds like a solid plan to me.”

The rest of the table repeated the sentiment.

Alya grinned. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice sounding very much like Kronk said, “Oh yeah, it’s all coming together.”

Alya was a force of wind when she rushed into work that Monday. It was a Monday, so she should’ve been sleepy like the rest of her coworkers, but there was a mission to complete. She carried herself up the staircase with purpose and momentum and when she placed herself behind her desk, there was no pause to power up her computer. Waiting in Alya’s email were photos of her corkboard, which worked as her makeshift notes. 

Justine called from across the room, “Hey, Alya--”

“No time!” she cut her off. “Big scoop, gotta type!”

Her coworker snorted and turned back to her conversation with Leslie. The room was filled with quiet murmurs as everyone enjoyed the sleepiness Mondays allowed, but it was now joined by a stream of click clacks from a keyboard. 

Armed with the reasons given to her last night, Alya was on a mission to get the word out. She planned her evidence, how she would break up the matching villains and call her audience to feel a bit safer. Her fingers whirred, never stopping for more than a moment.

As her coworkers eased into their desks and settled into their coffee, Alya powered through prepping her article. The sooner she could get the word out, the better.

When Paris learned who Monarch Moth was targeting, simultaneous panic and calm erupted. 

When Paris learned who Monarch Moth was targeting, those susceptible to akumatization rushed out of the city. Apartments and houses went up for sale faster than ever before, and those unable to leave permanently but who desired to worked to spend as much time as possible out of range. Others took it in stride in public, claiming they’d handled it once before, and they would do it again. A majority of that group allowed themselves to grieve in private, knowing they were not as safe as they previously believed themselves to be. Knowing there was a chance of returning to that monster they’d been made into all those years ago.

When Paris learned who Monarch Moth was targeting, those safe from akumatization collectively let out a breath. They would not be turned against themselves and into someone they were not. Still, they worried for their loved ones who were still at risk. Still, they theorized about this new Hawkmoth, who some journalist had dubbed Monarch Moth, about who they might be and what they might want. Did they have a grudge against adults? Maybe they wanted to make trouble but didn’t have the creativity? Those previously untouched by akumatization may have been safe in body, but not in mind.

When Paris learned who Monarch Moth was targeting, the city knew more about the threat they faced, and with that knowledge, it would better defend itself from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello y'all! Thanks for being patient for this chapter. I know it's only been a week, which isn't Technically a long time, but it's longer than I normally take. Uhhhh for this week's snippet of my music, Will Jay is Awesome, he's got a ton of good songs. 
> 
> Like always, comments, both compliments and constructive, are welcome! Trust me when I say they help my motivation for this fic a ton, they make my day every time.


	11. A 3 for 1 Deal! Great Savings!

Everyone has layers to themselves. Anyone has the capability of moonlighting as a different version of themself, no Miraculous required. No matter who you are, how open of a person you consider yourself, you present different facets of yourself when with different people. You’re someone with your parents, you’re someone when interviewing for a new job, you’re someone to your teachers, you’re someone to your girlfriend. You’re a different person to all of them, but you’re also the same person.

Even to the same individual, you can grow and change before their eyes while still remaining the exact same self. On your first date with your new boyfriend, you go to a diner. You order a salad and only eat half of it, and you don’t even know why. Your new boyfriend must surely be aware that you do require nutrients and consume food, but showing off that side of yourself? Preposterous, don’t even suggest it. Before you know it, years have passed, and you marry this new boyfriend. On a whim, the two of you return to the diner where you had your first date. Now, now you can finally order that giant, juicy burger with layers of cheese and meaty goodness. You can devour it in front of this man, barely breathing as you inhale your food; he is allowed to know that you are hungry for  _ meat _ . Nothing relevant has changed about yourself between diner visits, but your actions varied wildly because you allowed yourself to express a hidden layer of yourself.

Switching up what parts of yourself you express isn’t a sign of a fake personality, it’s a symptom of understanding what’s appropriate and necessary. It’s the feeling of “how much of myself and what parts of myself am I comfortable expressing and am allowed to express?” For some people, hiding of the self is a matter of safety. One girl wants to go to school and be a scientist, but doing so is forbidden in her culture. Another person loves their family, but coming out as queer would mean losing their love. The list goes on. Other times, the switch isn’t conscious, but instead an instinctive, “I must take action” change. Plenty of people report being terrified in a given dangerous situation, but who shut down their fear response when another expresses the same. They push away their own emotions for the sake of comforting another. 

Alya Césaire, as the user of the Fox Miraculous with its powers over illusions, knew better than most people how the self was composed of layers. She’d first delved into it when receiving that very necklace as she watched herself transform not just in costume but in character as well. She’d also observed Nino and Carapace, how they simultaneously expressed different traits and were the exact same person. Then, there had been Chloe and Queen Bee, showing how even the biggest of divas could want to help and improve the world, be a living contradiction. While not a conscious interest, Alya often found herself contemplating the subject and having insight the few times it came up in conversation.

What really informed her knowledge on the topic, though, wasn’t any of those superheroes. It was discovering the identities of Ladybug and Chat Noir. 

She’d learned the latter’s first. After several years of Ladybug calling upon her and eventually earning the honor of holding onto the Fox Miraculous, Rena Rouge found herself growing closer to Chat Noir. They could banter for hours, much to Ladybug’s distress. Their matching sass was the basis of their relationship, but over time, it grew into a closeness that saving the city time and time again brought. 

So this was how Rena found herself wandering the rooftops with him after an akuma attack. With their count-down powers unused and nowhere to be in their civilian lives, they were free to run atop the Parisian skyline.

“Haha! I beat you!” Rena exclaimed, swinging around one of the supports of the Eiffel Tower. 

“Curses, foiled again!” Chat Noir shook his fist as he filed in alongside her. He took a seat.

She joined him, swinging her legs in the cool air. Neither said anything for a while; instead, they breathed in the evening together and enjoyed the view together. 

Chat Noir was fascinating to watch upon knowing him at a deeper level. He loved to joke and talk and put on a show. But while that performative element was a part of him, a very real part of him, it was also exactly that: a show, a performance. Rena loved catching him in the moments where he stopped acting out and melted into that much softer version of Chat Noir. 

“Can I talk to you?” he asked. “I have some stuff to get off my chest, and I can’t really talk to Ladybug about it.”

“Of course, what’s up?” She nodded, and Chat Noir began to speak.

He spoke of his secret identity. He spoke of how he hated never getting to be his whole self. He spoke of yearning to tell Ladybug who he was outside of the mask and her adamance that their civilian selves stay secret. He spoke and spoke and spoke, and the sun began to settle somewhere beyond the horizon. 

When he was done, the world remained as still as Paris could be for just a moment. It hung on his words, absorbing them and incorporating them into its structure on a molecular level. Rena said, “I don’t know how sensible the secret identity rules are between us heroes. I mean, Ladybug knows both Carapace’s and my identities, and us latter two know each other’s.” She tilted her head to look at Chat Noir. “But you don’t know anyone’s. That has to be rough.”

“It… it is,” he admitted. “I want to know who all of you are, outside of superhero work. Especially Ladybug, she’s so amazing; I can’t imagine not being blown away by whoever that is.”

An idea occurred to Rena. It was certainly a bad one. A terrible one. It needed to be shut down. “Chat… talk me out of what I’m about to say,” she warned.

“Okay?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“What’s stopping us from sharing our identities with each other?”

Chat Noir started at her words, physically taken aback by them. His eyes widened to the size of saucers, and he ran his hands through his hair. “Come again?”

“We could do that right now, why shouldn’t we?” Rena repeated. Ladybug was going to kill them. Someone needed to stop her right now or she would end up six feet under, no last words or final pleas, just death.

“Well, Ladybug would kill us,” he started, repeating her own thought processes. “We’re on a world famous landmark right now, someone would spot us. Plus cameras. It’s a risk to the people we know in our civilian lives. If we know each other already, that’d affect our superhero dynamic, possibly negatively.”

She gulped. “And why should we? How could we circumvent those consequences?”

Chat Noir shifted his weight, crossed and uncrossed legs. “I don’t think we can get around Ladybug or any of the difficulties actually knowing would bring. We could avoid the sightline issues by going somewhere else? And the risk for our loved ones would actually probably stay the same, considering they’re already in close contact with at least one superhero,” he reasoned. “And if we told each other… maybe being a superhero would be a little less lonely.”

This was how Rena Rouge discovered that Chat was none other than Adrien Agreste. They snuck away to a secluded rooftop, one with no cameras, no access, and no outside viewpoints. When each dropped their transformations and saw the other, their reactions were less than composed. 

“You’re--!”

“How--?!”

“And I didn’t even--!”

“What?!”

After they calmed down, after they fed their kwamis, after they once again became their superhero personas (both agreed it was easier to talk Miraculous business while in Miraculous form), Chat finally allowed all his secret identity weights to slip away from his chest. 

Both Rena Rouge and Alya learned something that night. Rena Rouge increased her insight into secret identities, how to recognize what a person looks like under and outside of the mask. Alya discovered that a sweet, soft-spoken boy and a wild, flirty cat could be the same person. She never knew that a single person could contain such contradictions, but now that she saw it, it began to appear in the rest of her world.

It was how she figured out that Marinette was… that Ladybug was actually…

Ladybug did chew them out when she learned what Rena and Chat had done. They played it off as an accident, and she seemed to believe them, but barely. 

Rena couldn’t help but wonder if that stress manifested in her civilian self. This was just the wrong thought, as soon Alya noticed how tired Marinette had been lately. She’d noticed that something was up with her best friend, but she’d let herself believe the excuses. Now though… the parallels with Ladybug began to appear everywhere.

“Woah, girl,” Alya nudged Marinette to keep her awake. The latter had been nodding off in class for the last week,  and Hawkmoth had been sending night akumas since last Saturday, with Alya only escaping fatigue due to her habit of sleeping through villain alerts. “Stay with us now.”

“Sorry, I’ve just been up late studying the last couple of nights.” Marinette rubbed her eyes.

Alya furrowed her eyebrows. “That’s rough. Wanna have a study sesh tomorrow night?” 

“My place?" She grinned back gratefully.

Alya did end up coming over to her house, but when Marinette fell asleep twenty minutes in, she scooped her up and tucked her into bed. Whether she was losing sleep because of schoolwork or saving the city, she had earned a nap. 

Once the idea had been planted in her head, Alya couldn’t shake it. Everything lined up too perfectly, from their personalities to their disappearances and appearances to their little pigtails on the side of their heads.

The most damning piece of evidence was actually years old though. Why else would Ladybug have picked Alya, who ran a blog on the superheroes and would seem prone to exposing her identity, to be Rena Rouge? She’d always had her questions about it, and now Rena couldn’t help but ask her about it during a patrol.

Ladybug answered simply, “You were the one who inspired me to be Ladybug.”

She blanched at that, nearly falling off the roof they were walking along. It was just the two of them, so at least only one person witnessed her blunder. Of all the answers she had predicted,  _ that _ hadn’t even been in the top one hundred. “ _ What? _ ”

“Yeah!” She laughed. “Back with Stoneheart. You were so brave, and at first I thought that I should give up the Miraculous to y-- to someone like you. But you cheered me on and kept me going. If it wasn’t for you… I probably would have given up.”

Rena has expected a reference to Alya’s exclusive interview, or maybe knowing it was her sisters’ who had been akumatized into the Sopatis during Rena’s first appearance. Hearing that she had sparked Ladybug into  _ being _ Ladybug… 

“That’s kind of insane,” Rena told her. “To think I inspired my hero… It doesn’t fit in my brain.”

Ladybug shrugged with a flicker of humor twinkling in her eyes. “Guess that makes us even. Inspiration for inspiration.”

Even amidst that mind boggling revelation, Rena had to prod a little more. “You know, what I always wondered about that was how you knew my name. At first I thought maybe it was part of your superpowers, but, well, I can testify for myself now that Miraculouses don’t let you know everyone’s name.”

Her eyes zeroed in on Ladybug like a hawk. She walked several feet ahead of Rena, back facing the Fox-themed superhero. Her shoulders tensed infinitesimally, her stride wavered for just a millisecond. She stammered, her hands gesturing wildly, “I-- well, uh--”

Then Rena knew. She’d recognized that hand waving, that stuttering anywhere. Marinette was Ladybug. Ladybug was Marinette. That was even more insane than the inspiring-Ladybug-to-be-Ladybug thing, but Rena filed that information to process later. She couldn’t even begin to fit that idea in her brain right now without falling over.

Setting a hand on Ladybug’s shoulder, she soothed, “You’re quite a good guesser. I suppose that makes sense though, with you being Lady Luck and all.”

She grabbed the flimsy logic like a lifeline. “Yeah! It was just a lucky guess, that’s all!”

When Alya finally sat down and contemplate what she learned, she had a lot to think about.

Her first emotion was confusion at the overlap itself.  _ They seemed so different, how could they possibly be the same person?!, _ her subconscious cried. But if Chat Noir and Adrien had taught her anything, it was to look deeper. In high stakes situations, Marinette had proven time and time again that she was brave and tactical. She was smart and kind, just like Ladybug, anyone could see that. Hell, she’d even been dubbed their “everyday Ladybug.” Plus, Alya remembered the superhero’s first appearance. Namely, she recalled the initial clumsiness, how she kept getting tangled in her own yoyo, how she’d tripped over her own feet. The fact was the two people weren’t without overlap. They certainly were more similar than Chat Noir and Adrien seemed.

Her second emotion was hurt. How could Marinette not tell Alya, her best friend? Did she not trust her? Was she afraid of her reaction? Why would she keep being Ladybug a secret? Alya could’ve helped her, could’ve covered for her. Once again, though, she had to talk herself down. Had she told Marinette about being Rena Rouge? Well, no.  _ Why was that? _ she asked herself. First, because Ladybug told her not to. But there was more to it. Alya had wanted to keep Marinette safe. If she knew that she was Rena Rouge, it might make her a target. (Of course, Marinette did know Rena’s identity, but Alya hadn’t known that. The point stood.) Marinette probably felt the same way; she tackled her double life alone out of fear of harming the people she loved. Alya could understand that.

Ultimately, what Alya learned about secret identities from Ladybug was their purpose. Secrets were secret for a reason, so she wouldn’t say anything. The truth would come out eventually, at Ladybug’s choosing, she decided. (Of course, that wasn’t what ended up happening, but circumstances changed. That didn’t mean that choice hadn’t been the right one for the time.)

Alya knew secret identities. She understood how everyone contained multitudes and layers and how that’s what makes people  _ real _ . But she still had one thing to learn.

She, Nino, and Spots ate dinner together, speaking amiably and freely and about nothing at all. They discussed work days and school work and that one annoying person they were forced to work with. Until Spots introduced a new topic of conversation.

“There’s… there’s something I want to talk to you guys about.” She shifted in her seat, eyes pinned on the edge of her plate.

Alya’s eyebrows creased, and she absentmindedly wondered what this something might be. “We’re all ears, Bug,” she told her.

“I--” A deep inhale. A controlled exhale. “I want to tell you my identity.”

“Oh.” Alya… hadn’t expected that. A glance at Nino told her he was reacting similarly. His posture had straightened, like a marionette pulled up by its spine. 

He asked, “Are you sure?”

Spots nodded. “I want to tell you,” she repeated. “Tikki approved, so if you’re okay with it...” The question in her voice was clear as finely-spun glass.

Alya smiled at her. “Whenever you’re ready then.”

“Tikki, spots off.”

Brilliant pink light shone from the superhero like a supernova. When it faded away, it revealed a teen girl with the same blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a faded t-shirt and rose-colored pants. She looked exactly how Alya thought she should, but simultaneously, had she seen this teenager in passing, the connection never would have occurred to her.

“My name is Anne Marie Leloup,” said the girl.

Nino smiled at her, as warm as a thousand hugs. “You’re wonderful,” he told her. “I already know.”

Neither he nor Alya had met Anne Marie as her civilian self. This was not a reveal of “I am both of these people” with a silent “and more” attached; this was Spots turning towards them and saying, “This is the part of me you’ve been missing out on.”

Everyone has layers to themselves, pieces they hide away and show off at their choosing. It is a grand sign of trust and love to let someone else in on the hidden parts of yourself. That was what Alya had left to learn, and what she learned that night.

( _ Ring ring… ring ring... _ )

(“Hey, Nino! What can I do for you?”)

(“Hi, Marinette. Alya told you about her discovery, right? About the akumatization targets?”)

(“Yeah, she did. And, well, even if she hadn’t personally, it’s all anyone’s talking about. But yes, I am thoroughly up to speed.”)

(“Do you think you get me in contact with the Tibetan monks? I think I have an idea on a motive, but I want to get some clarification on the Miraculous before I jump to any conclusions.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried out a slightly different style for this chapter, it felt like Spots' identity reveal deserved that kind of build up. And I hope you enjoyed that little ending tease ;)
> 
> For my music recommendations, Tessa Violet currently has my heart, I texted my girlfriend a screenshot of my spotify's recently played and it was All Tessa Violet. Her vibes are great and I'm love
> 
> Like always, comments make my day, I love chatting and seeing what you guys have to say


	12. This Is Going To Be Fun!

Alya knew about Nino’s use of the Horse Miraculous to visit the monks. You don’t get twenty-six years into a functioning marriage without internalizing the mantra “communication is key.” It wasn’t about so much asking permission or “hey, are you okay with this?” as it was “here’s what’s on my agenda” and “this is where I’m going to be today, if I don’t return within twenty-four hours, send help.” 

When she asked what exactly he wanted to talk to the monks about, Nino stayed vague, explaining with a sympathetic shrug, “I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, so I don’t want to say anything too early.”

Alya groaned. “Alright, but I call dibs on getting to know first when you’re proven right.”

“It could be nothing, babe,” he reminded with a laugh.

“I don’t believe it for a second.” She shook her head emphatically. “You got too good of instincts for that.”

That Monday morning, Nino Voyaged to Tibet with the Horse Miraculous, but he would return that evening right on top of their game of Scrabble on the living room floor. 

“Oh, Nino!” Alya exclaimed. “I was about to win!” She wasn’t, but no one could prove that now. 

Lucky and Spots stared at the figure before them, eyes comically large. 

“What the hell?! Nino?!” Lucky yelled.

“I thought you were Carapace, not Pegasus?” Spots cried.

In a flash of bright light, Nino detransformed into his normal self. He removed the glasses from his face and placed them down a side table. With a good natured laugh, he said, “I don’t normally use this Miraculous, promise. Today was the outlier.”

The two teens stilled gaped at him, but Alya clapped her hands. “C’mon, let’s pick up these tiles, and then, Nino will explain what’s been happening.” She gave him a knowing look. “And you were right?”

He sighed. “I was right.”

“Haha!” She cheered in victory. “So by proxy, I was right!”

A minute later, the four had picked up the Scrabble tiles and plopped them each into the box. Then, each found a seat on one of the various pieces of furniture. 

“So...” Lucky prompted. “Do you often use other Miraculous, or is that just every other Monday?”

From her position next to him on the couch, Alya watched Nino snort at that. He said, “This was a special occasion. There are some Tibetan monks that are, like, the ultimate resource on Miraculouses, and I needed to ask them something.”

He shifted in his seat and pulled his hands up to gesture with before continuing, “After Alya made the connection that all of the new akuma victims had been akumatized back in our day---” Nino shook his head as if trying to shuffle his thoughts around. Somewhere in Alya’s mind, the picture of an Etch A Sketch cropped up. “We told you about Miraculous corruption, right?”

Both Spots and Lucky nodded.

“What do you remember about how it affects the next user?” he asked.

Spots creased her eyebrows. “The Miraculous holds onto some of the previous holder’s negativity.”

“That’s right!” Nino exclaimed. “It causes the next holder to repeat some of their experience with the Miraculous, specifically the parts on the more… negative side of the spectrum. Next question, given that context, what has Monarch Moth been doing?” 

Alya gasped as she realized what Nino was saying. “Holy shit.”

Lucky stared at Nino, mouth parted in shock. “They’re repeating Hawkmoth’s actions.”

_ Alya remembered the final fight against Hawkmoth. All the heroes had come together and backed him into a corner. As Ladybug gave one final speech declaring him defeated (“Do you think your wife would have wanted this? Do you think your family will be the happy people you want them to be when they discover what you’ve done?”), they gave him no choice but to back down. _

_ Alya remembered him still not giving up, still throwing out his last ditch effort to  _ win _ despite how he had clearly lost everything. Chat Noir had leaped forward, tackling him to the ground. Hawkmoth yelled, “I should’ve been able to bring her back!” Like a trapped, wounded animal, he screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed. Rena barely heard Chat call “Cataclysm” before bearing his hand down on the Butterfly Miraculous.  _

_ Alya remembered the bright light washing over Hawkmoth, revealing none other than Gabriel Agreste. She remembered the stunned silence following his defeat, broken up only by his occasional weep. She remembered the Miraculous Ladybug cure pulling the brooch back from the dust. She remembered it all like it was yesterday. _

“Crap, that makes sense.” She rubbed at her eyes, which were certainly dry after her recall of the past, thank you very much. “Hawkmoth was definitely upset when he lost his Miraculous, and if being Cataclysm-ed doesn’t count as physical backlash then I don’t know what does.”

It made so much sense, Alya wasn’t sure how they hadn’t seen it before. She was supposed to be knowledgeable about the Miraculous, she had written article after article. She was supposed to be the well-researched one. How could she have forgotten about something so relevant to the original fight as corruption?

“Does this mean...” Spots said, “How in control of themselves do you think Monarch Moth is?”

And she hadn’t even  _ considered _ that.

Alya swallowed hard at that question. “Oh my God, they might not even  _ know _ they’re a supervillain,” she said, only half aware that she was voicing her realization.

Likely in response to its validity, Nino winced. He remained quiet, however, as he watched the faces of those sitting around the room. His face was calm if a bit cautious, with his eyes and brows adjusted just so. She could practically see his hands held up in a “woah, easy there” pose, even if they remained on his lap. Nino said, “We still have a lot to learn about the situation. When you finally do go head-to-head with Monarch, you can’t let this hold you back. If anything, it means you need to fight harder in order to free them, because they’re likely just as much of a victim of this as those akumatized.”

Alya sighed. This was just… a lot. Almost too much. It felt like her neurons were frying in their attempts to imagine the implications of this new data. “At least my discovery had cupcakes.” 

“Yeah, Nino, why didn’t you bring us back any Tibetan pastries, where’s the love?” Lucky joked, but there was an edge to her voice, a flatness. Her arms wrapped around her torso in a tight hug, and she tucked her legs up beside her in the seat. Despite any attempts at humor, clearly she wasn’t spared of what this revelation would mean.

Monarch Moth could be anyone. It didn’t have to be a jaded old man, it could be someone fighting against their own actions just as much as Spots and Lucky fought against the villains. They might not know what was happening, maybe just noticing blackouts of time they had no memory of, or worse, they did know what was happening. Either they were choosing to give into the Miraculous’ influence, or they were being coerced against their will. Alya didn’t know which was worse.

As both a distraction and a stress reliever, the four did end up back in the kitchen to make their own cupcakes. For the most part, conversation swerved around any mentions of the villain, instead focusing on stories and jokes and whatever else anyone had to say. There was one major exception to this, however, when they decided to keep this new information out of the media.

“Paris doesn’t need a downer after my last Miraculous article,” Alya had explained. “While it may pave the way for an easier social recovery for Monarch Moth post-defeat, keeping that information to ourselves makes much more strategic sense.”

The other three agreed, and so it would be done.

The strangest and most welcome development since Spots’ identity reveal was that on nights where Lucky confirmed her absence, she allowed herself to detransform and relax as Anne Marie. Her clothes were often faded or ripped or too small or a mix of all three, and Alya suspected her only pair of shoes was a pair of ratty sneakers, but she seemed more at ease in this wardrobe than in her spandex.

Maybe at ease wasn’t the word. Anne Marie spoke more boldly, adopted a slight edge that her alter ego kept smoothed over. Comparatively to past super heroes though, the difference in behavior was fairly small. However, Alya contributed at least some of that to it being herself and Nino that Anne was interacting with. She’d already established her behavior with them, a complete overhaul of that didn’t make sense.

It was nice to see her, Anne Marie completely mask-free her, sat at the dinner table, laughing and storytelling and enjoying herself. 

Alya and Nino didn’t have any kids of their own. Even with all their roles as aunt and uncle and godparents, they weren’t parents. Not for lack of trying or lack of want, but well… that was a story for another day. 

Regardless, watching Anne Marie in her faded band t-shirt complain about her history teacher while sitting in Alya’s dining room… It made her feel a lot like a parent.

The three of them were eating supper (a meal Anne had helped prepare, much to her delight), and the teen was asking something.

“--do you think we could do that?”

Alya shook her head, pulling herself back into the present. “I’m sorry, I just hardcore spaced out. What’d you say?”

Nino didn’t quite laugh, but he did exhale a short puff of air with a slight smirk. Oh, he had  _ definitely _ noticed her daydreaming and hadn’t said anything, that bastard.

Anne Marie gave her own annoyed eye roll, but there was no real bite to it. “Since all the villains have been fought and defeated before, I was wondering if we could get some notes on  _ how _ they were originally beaten. I’m thinking a spreadsheet.” She splayed her hand in front of her as if presenting some grand, mind-blowing idea for a blockbuster movie on the last sentence.

Teetering her head back and forth, Alya considered her proposal. A cheat sheet for the akumatized would be a real asset. After a day spent digging through the Ladyblog, she could put together something for the superheroes. She’d probably need to grab Adrien and Marinette in order to get a more specific account of their strateg--

Grabbing Adrien and Marinette, huh. That wasn’t such a bad idea.

“A spreadsheet should be doable,” Alya decided, “but how would you feel about talking to the people who actually did the defeating?”

A grin grew on Nino’s face as he realized what she was suggesting. “This is going to be fun.”

“Are you serious?” Spots glanced at Alya cautiously, as if ready for her to shout “psyche!” “Can we actually? Meet Ladybug and Chat Noir?” Even with her dubious expression, a slight smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Alya held up her hands and she gave her disclaimer. “Well, I’d need to ask them first, and we’d also want to run it by Lucky first, but otherwise I don’t see why not.”

“Oh yeah.” Nino repeated, “This is going to be  _ fun _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Update! Due to AP exams starting this week and going into the next, there May be a delay on the next chapter or two. Key word being "may," we're going to find out. Those tests are probably going to be running my life for these next two weeks, and with school finishing for me this week on top of that... it's not out of the question that I may just give myself the week off writing wise in order to give my brain a break. We'll find out though, this warning may be for nothing. Onto your regularly scheduling end notes!
> 
> Hello everyone! We be handing out a reveal and setting up the next chapter in this Chili's tonight. This chapter is a little shorter than I normally go, it was originally going to contain part of the next chapter, but honestly this cutting up of the story makes more sense I Promise, so you'll just have to hold off. 
> 
> I have been listening to the Moominvalley soundtrack on repeat and regret Nothing, Dodie is on there how could I.


	13. Some Barely Relavent Hot Dogs

Setting up a meeting between the new superheroes and the old wasn’t as difficult as Alya had prepared for. All it took was asking.

“--we caught Hugo snooping around Louis’ room the other night, which first of all, was completely out of character for him, but more importantly, he had the  _ lamest _ fake excuse I have ever heard,” Marinette gossiped, her voice slightly distorted by the phone it was coming through.

“Yeah? What’d he say?” Alya asked into her phone’s microphone. She smirked slightly, enjoying this week’s parenting shenanigans.

“So he tells us that Louis stole his phone charger right?” Marinette paused to laugh at her own story. “But then we go into Hugo’s room, and do you know what is plugged into the wall next to his bed? In plain sight, where it always is?”

Alya answered dryly, “His charger?” 

“His  _ freaking  _ charger!!” She gave in to cackling once more. “So I don’t know what--” Hiccup. “--Hugo was doing in there, but I kind of have to let him get away with it because I think the embarrassment of lying that  _ badly _ is punishment enough!”

“I mean, legally,” Alya, a smile painting her face, ceded, “I think you have to.” Maybe the story itself wasn’t actually that funny. Maybe it was the funniest thing in the world. It didn’t really matter; it was making Marinette laugh, and that was what counted. 

“Okay, okay.” Marinette pulled herself down from her high on humor. Alya could see in her mind’s eye the way she was fanning herself to scare away the blush. “You said you wanted to ask me about something, what did you want to ask me?”

“Right!” Reminded of her goal, Alya focused herself. “I was talking to Spots, and she had the idea of, since all the villains have been akumatized before, a cheat sheet of sorts with all the info on the villains on it--”

“Man, that would’ve been nice to have.” Marinette told her. “I’ll definitely help with that.”

Alya pumped her fist. “Awesome! But that’s only half of my plan.”

Once again, she could practically see Marinette’s mannerisms, this time an eyebrow quirk.

“How would you feel about giving them an in-person lesson? Both you and Adrien.”

“Oh,” was all she said. “I-- huh.”

An acquaintance wouldn’t have known what to do with that. A less close friend would’ve taken that as a refusal. However, Alya knew Marinette, and she knew to wait and listen to find out the truth.

“I guess I never really thought about anything like that. Sorry if this is weird, but I kind of think of them as  _ your _ kids,” Marinette continued, parsing out her thoughts as she spoke.

She wasn’t entirely wrong about the superheroes being Alya’s. Alya would be lying if she said she didn’t feel similarly about the subject. However, she couldn’t help but giggle in knowing that, unbeknownst to Marinette, Lucky was actually her daughter. Maybe them two and Adrien could share custody. Alya was already her godmother, it wasn’t like she didn’t have previous dibs.

“I need to talk to Adrien about it,” Marinette decided. “This involves him as much as me, he needs to be in on this conversation.”

Alya nodded, despite the fact that Marinette couldn’t see the action. “Let me know what he says, and I’ll forward the message to Spots and Lucky.”

The following evening, Alya received a text:  _ We’re in. _ She grinned widely.

They decided on a Saturday evening at the Césaire household. (The time unfortunately meant Nino would miss for a DJ gig, but he’d okayed it with the words “They’ll have you supervising, Alya, it’ll be fine. You can let me know if anything interesting happens, yeah?”) Alya acted as a messenger between the teens and the Agrestes in planning the meetup. She told Adrien and Marinette that it was for the comfort of Spots and Lucky, which while true, glazed over the deeper reason that they already had Lucky’s number in their phones under a different name. 

Spots had volunteered to ask Lucky if she was okay with meeting their predecessors back when Alya had first come up with the idea, and the latter had agreed. Even if Lucky appeared a bit reluctant about it to Alya, it seemed she hadn’t wanted to go through explaining to Spots  _ why _ she would be averse to it, hence the agreement.

When the day came, the two teens arrived (through the front door with their shiny new keys) twenty minutes before Marinette and Adrien. (This ensured that the first acquaintance would happen in the apartment instead of during an awkward elevator ride, Nino’s idea) The new superheroes and Alya sat around in the living room, keeping conversation light. While Spots ducked out to make a bathroom stop, Alya joined Lucky on the couch to check in with the girl.

“Are you sure you’re okay with talking to your parents under the mask?” the former said in a hushed tone, only slightly above a whisper.

“Honestly?” Lucky looked at her earnestly. “I’m pretty sure they’re going to figure me out the second they step into the room. That’s kind of terrifying.”

Alya placed a hand on her shoulder. “You can still leave. No one will be mad if you do.”

Lucky shook her head. “Maybe not mad, but Spots'll be disappointed. She’s been really excited for this, and it’ll make her sad if I’m not there.”

She was right about Spots's being excited. The latter hadn’t talked about it much, but she’d had a quiet energy, a silent thrilling buzz to her, since they’d generated the idea. Still, that didn’t mean Lucky had to stay.

“Do  _ you _ want to be here?” Alya asked.

Lucky paused before answering. “I-- yes, I think I do.”

“Okay,” she let up.

A toilet flushed somewhere down the hall, and Alya stood. When Spots returned, Lucky and Alya were sat together on the couch, munching on cookies the latter had brought from the kitchen. 

“Want one?” Lucky held up a third cookie. 

Spots smiled softly and took a seat in between Alya and her, grabbing the treat as she settled into the cushions. Alya pretended not to notice the light blush on Lucky’s face.

_ Knock knock knock _ .

The three turned toward the front door as the handle twisted open. It swung open to reveal the Agreste couple, Adrien with his hand still on the knob and Marinette carrying a tray of brownies. 

Spots straightened her posture upon seeing the couple, then hurriedly brushed any crumbs from her lap and mouth. Lucky, on the other hand, visibly tensed.

“Hello everyone!” Adrien called, relaxed as anything.

Marinette waved, but then remembered her hand was supposed to be carrying something and rushed to return it to its hold.

Alya returned the gesture and stood to meet them, “Hey guys!” She hugged Adrien first then moved on to Marinette after taking the brownies. “Take a seat, I’ll go get some napkins for these treats.”

As she snuck into the kitchen to do just that, she heard the couple introduce themselves. “I’m Marinette Agreste, but you would know me as Ladybug. And this is my husband, Adrien, a.k.a. Chat Noir.”

_ “We don’t have much to lose by showing them our real identities,” Adrien had said over the phone to Alya, several days before the meeting. “I mean, by this point, there’s no remaining circumstantial evidence. If they tell anyone, it’s a blank accusation. I mean, we look similar to our superhero selves, but other than that it’s their word against ours.” _

_ Alya had conceded the point. “I would never tell you guys to reveal yourselves where you didn’t want to, but I kind of have to agree. And besides, I can’t imagine them telling anyone. Your secret will be safe with them.” _

“You alright, Spots?” Adrien asked as Alya returned and settled back into her place on the couch.

He was right to. The poor thing was staring so hard it looked like her eyes were going to pop out of her head. 

“Great! It’s just...” she sputtered, “you two are… married?” Spots stumbled over the last word as if even she was questioning it. Only then did Alya remember that she had said she had stolen her Miraculous out of her teacher’s desk. Holy shit, she hadn’t just found out the identity of Chat Noir, she’d found out her  _ teacher _ had been Chat Noir. Alya couldn’t help but giggle at the realization.

The couple laughed at Spots's question, and from the corner of her eye, Alya caught a small snort escape from Lucky.

“Yes,” answered Adrien with a toothy grin. He joked, “Chat Noir’s flirting was not for nothing, I assure you!” 

Spots gave a small smile, likely glad her cover had been successful. 

After that, the five of them began working through a list of previous villains, minus all the ones Spots and Lucky had already defeated or who’s civilian selves had either passed away or no longer resided in Paris. Alya had compiled that list and made a beautiful spreadsheet, complete with pictures when available. 

_ “Do you think I have to include the team ups?” Alya had asked Marinette over the phone. _

_ “Nah,” she said. “The individuals always behaved the same, so as long as each person already appears on the list somewhere, they’ll be fine.” _

_ “Good.” Alya shivered. “I didn’t want to have to track down photos of the Punisher’s Trio; I hate looking at photos of akumatized me.” _

_ Marinette hummed in sympathy. “Yeah, that’s gotta be rough. Even decades later, I’m still finding reasons to be glad none of those butterflies got me.” _

Alya would say a villain’s name and give a descriptor, and the Agreste would provide any special instructions about that match up. She had already put in a column of where the akuma had been hidden previously, another for powerset, etcetera etcetera. All that was left  _ was _ these special details that only Ladybug and Chat Noir could provide. Both Spots and Lucky asked questions throughout, whether that be commenting on a villain’s abilities or wanting clarification of an explanation from Marinette and Adrien.

“Next up is the Pharaoh,” Alya announced. “By changing which Egyptian god’s mask he wears, Pharaoh can adopt a given attribute, like, “Horus, give me your wings!” He can create time bubbles, turn people into mummies, etcetera etcetera. He takes on the motivations of a real Pharah, Tutankhamun, and wants to bring his wife Nefertiti back from the dead through a ritual where he sacrifices someone he believes to be pure of heart.”

“Wait, but Nefertiti wasn’t his wife, she was his mom!” Lucky’s face screwed up in confusion.

Adrien blanched. “ _ What. _ ”

“Yeah!” she continued. “Well, actually, it wouldn’t be off brand for a pharaoh to get with his mother, but I don’t think that particular pairing ever happened. They  _ definitely _ weren’t married.”

“ _ What, _ ” he repeated.

Marinette waved her hands in front of her, as if trying to wipe away the conversation. “Nope, ew, my son has a thing for Egyptology, and one of you is enough.”

Alya pretended to not notice how Lucky retracted just the tiniest bit at the word “son.”

She pushed onward, however. “It’s interesting! They pulled their brains out through their  _ noses _ , Mo- Marinette.”

Spots nodded gravely. “I once mummified a bunch of hot dogs for a science fair.”

Lucky gasped. “Did it work?!”

“The mummified ones definitely fared better than the controls.”

“Are you implying that you just let a hot dog sit and rot for the sake of a control test?!” Marinette asked, clearly distressed.

“I let  _ three _ unmummified hot dogs sit and rot for the sake of a control test.”

“Alya, can we  _ please _ get another villain,” Adrien begged.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” She smirked, then cringed upon seeing who exactly she would be reading about. “Oblivio’s akuma is in their blaster, which they can shoot glowing projectiles out of. While these projectiles cause no physical damage, they do erase the memories of whoever they hit.”

Marinette winced in sympathy. “They’re a difficult one. Adrien and I actually got memory-wiped, so I don’t know exactly how to defeat them.”

“Don’t get hit,” Adrien advised sagely. “That’s what we got.”

Alya had forgotten about Oblivio, fittingly enough. Lady Wifi was a much more prominent figure in her mind due to her much more frequent appearances, and her experiences were more clear in Alya’s mind. Oblivio was blurrier, as if their power had leaked into her memory. Maybe it was something about sharing her consciousness with someone else; take away Nino and everything else faded with it.

She shook her head, forcing herself to pay attention to the conversation.

“Oblivio’s a case of something I don’t think you two have seen yet,” Adrien was saying. “They were actually-- well, Alya you want to take it?” 

She sighed. “Oblivio is made of two people, not just one akumatized person. That happened a couple of times: the Sapotis, my twin sisters; Heart Hunter, Chloe Bourgeois’ parents; probably some others I’m missing. Oblivio was-- is-- Nino and I together.”

Alya watched Lucky’s and and Spots's expressions while trying to keep her own relaxed. Lucky furrowed her eyebrows as she processed. Spots, on the other hand, seemed more concerned.

“You and Nino...” She paused, still trying to wrap her mind around Alya’s words. “Akumatized? Together.”

“Eloquently put, but yes,” Alya said dryly.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lucky interrupted. “Two people can be akumatized together? Like, do they fuse into one being, or are there two villains running around, or--”

Marinette giggled in her corner of the room at their queries. The evening preceded something like this into the night, until it got late enough that the teens couldn’t justify staying any longer. 

“Don’t you have parents?” teased Adrien, fortunately to Lucky and not Spots. Knowing what she did, Alya found the alternative more upsetting, while this one was just ironic.

Lucky tsk-ed in response. “I think that’s confidential mister! I answer that, and you’ll know that I’m an orphan, which will lead you right to my identity as Batman!”

As she ushered the two teens out the door, Alya snorted. “Well, ‘Batman’ needs to get back to her mansion before Alfred begins to worry.”

In order to give Lucky a headstart in getting home, she managed to convince Adrien and Marinette to stick around for a few extra minutes. 

“Tonight was good,” she told them, all three of them sat together on the couch that Spots and Lucky had spent the evening on.

Marinette hummed an agreement. “It’s nice getting to know the new superheroes. And I like reminding them that they have a support system to help them.”

“Things would’ve been a lot easier if we had had one of those.” Adrien sighed. “Master Fu peaced out way too quickly to be of much help, and the monks lived so far away… I’m glad to be able to help out where I can.”

Alya couldn’t have agreed more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh my AP tests haven't killed me yet but I still have one next week and a redo one in June (the upload system deleted half my answers for chem and I Cried.) The next chap will be Short cuz it was written during ap time, and that's just how it's gonna be.
> 
> Fun fact! I actually did that experiment in the fourth grade! Didn't win that year, but the year before I got first for talking about enzymes in Jello and third the next year for talking about how color affects taste.
> 
> This week's music rec is Nothing, because I listened to so much music while waiting for my exams to start and nothing soothed my nerves. Music is temporarily cancelled, press F to pay respects.
> 
> I've said it before, and I'll say it again, comments both constructive and encouraging make my day! Thanks for reading!


	14. Coffee Café

Alya liked to think she and Nino had taken Spots' identity reveal in stride. They were both incredibly glad she had chosen to share the Anne Marie part of herself, and caring for her as they did for Spots came easily. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean it was all smooth sailing.

Back when the two had initially picked up on Spots' home life, on her mother’s treatment of her, Alya and Nino had considered calling the authorities, discussions that only intensified as time went on. However, alerting Child Welfare was a tad difficult when the child in question’s name, address, or any other identifying details were top secret on the threat of Paris’ safety. 

Now that they had a name… The only thing stopping them was Anne Marie herself.

“Sweetheart, we can’t just let you stay in that place.” Nino said at dinner one night. With Lucky confirmed absent, Spots had detransformed into Anne Marie, and all three were playing with the lamb on their plates.

“You aren’t! I stay over here all the time, and that’s not even mentioning all the dinners--”

“Before we knew your name, we didn’t have this option, but now that we do know… Anne, we need to call Child Welfare, they can help.”

“No, they can’t! You can’t do that!”

Nino’s gentle voice soothed where Anne Marie’s harsh words burned. When he calmly insisted his points (like the constant tide, like a river wearing down stone), she fired back her own (like a cornered animal, like sputtering flame). 

“If you call Child Welfare, then they’ll take me away--”

“Do you really want to stay there?”

“--They could take me out of Paris, they could take me to a home that would notice my disappearances,  _ they could make me stop being Spots. _ ”

This was the point that they always got stuck at. Anne Marie didn’t deny Nino’s reasoning, but she prioritized the safety of Paris and her double life over any of it. How do you argue against someone who agreed with your points? You attack the other’s rationale. 

“We can find someone else to wield the Ladybug Miraculous; your safety is more important.”

“But I don’t want to stop! Being Spots is the best part of my life; I can’t lose it. Besides, you  _ know _ that training in another holder would take a lot of time and effort that we might not be able to afford!”

“Marinette is well versed in being Ladybug.”

Spots choked at this comment. Nino had never played this card before; clearly she had not been expecting it. 

“Nino,  _ please _ ,” was all she could manage.

He spoke, his tone still as collected as before. “As much as I hate it, we’re not going to call in the authorities until you give the go ahead. Doing so… it would likely mean losing your trust and we just can’t afford that given the Monarch Moth situation.” Nino laughed tiredly. “God, I hate that we have to prioritize a whole city over you. I hate that that’s the position we’re in. But sweetheart, there are workarounds and compromises we can find when we reach problems, you don’t have to stay with her.”

Alya tended to stay quiet during these arguments. Not out of lack of passion for the topic, quite the opposite. She just wanted to scream at Anne Marie to put herself first. If she participated in the debate, Alya suspected resisting would be nigh impossible. So she kept her mouth shut, silently supporting Nino, despite her ardent feelings to get Anne Marie  _ out _ of that house.

She prided herself on her mind. If Alya couldn’t tear into this problem and rip her from her mother’s grasps, then she would find another way to achieve that same goal.

Adrien texted her a few days after meeting the teen superheroes. Receiving the message wasn’t all that surprising; the two talked often over the phone and in person. (There had actually been a few in the intervening time, but none were as important as this one.)

_ Coffee at 8 tomorrow? _ it read.

_ Deal _ , she sent back. 

So the two met at a local café the next, with Alya arriving to Adrien already sat at their usual spot with a steaming cup of mocha waiting for her. 

“Mmmm, my favorite,” she said after taking a sip. 

“Really? Your favorite? Never would have guessed.” Adrien smirked back.

“It is my greatest held secret.” Alya told him earnestly.

He gave a mock gasp. “You must really like me then.”

“You wish.”

Laughter burst from them both only seconds later.

Years ago, after finding themselves in a sudden rainstorm, the two had discovered this café. It was small, but cozy, with big glass windows pouring in light and back corners that felt separate from the rest of the world. The seats were squishy, the tables small, the cheesecake delicious. In other words, it was perfect.

Adrien took a sip of her coffee, drinking in the atmosphere. “Lucky looks a lot like Emma.” 

Alya nodded. “She does.” They spoke serenely, melting in with the early morning. This wasn’t their first early morning conversation, and it wouldn’t be their last.

He hummed. “But she doesn’t act anything like her.”

“No, no she doesn’t.”

He gave her a curious look. His eyebrows creased in an adorably Chat Noir way. “You know something I don’t.”

“When don’t I?” she said with a chuckle. This was their dynamic, largely leftover from their superhero days. Chat Noir was the steadfastness, the flicker of humor, the amiableness. Rena Rouge was the wits, the slyness, the one step ahead. While they didn’t balance each other the way he and Ladybug did, they had forged their own harmony.

And Adrien was laughing too; they breathed in the familiarity of the situation like air.

“You’ll figure it out eventually,” she told him, giving him at least that small mercy. “But if you want answers now… Lucky’s the only one who can give you that.”

He nodded in understanding. 

Both turned their heads to stare out the window, drinking coffee and observing the foot traffic.

“I have my own question for you,” Alya said.

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“When you were younger, do you wish someone had called social services on your behalf? Taken you away from your father?”

“I--” Adrien stopped, thinking through the question. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

To give him time to respond, Alya remained silent.

He sighed. “I think I felt as a kid that because he never laid a hand on me that it didn’t really count. Like, he was caring in his own way, even if it hurt. So I never really thought that it was worth reporting, that’s just how life was.”

She watched his face. “And now?”

Adrien took another drink of his coffee, still looking outside. “I’m not sure I’d want to change anything about the past. I like how things ended up.” He turned to face her, eyes pulling her own to attention. “But I don’t think any kid deserves that kind of childhood.”

Alya nodded in understanding. A glance at her phone told her she needed to get to work, and she announced her intent to do so. As she packed up her stuff, Adrien said with a knowing smile, “I think things are going to work out just fine for them. They had something I never had.”

She gave him a questioning look. “Who?”

“This kid you’re concerned for,” he explained, because Rena wasn’t the one who picked up on small details. “They have an adult who noticed.”

Alya smirked back as she walked out of the café. “I think you have your own teenage drama to worry about.”

“My kids or Lucky?” Adrien called with a laugh.

“You figure it out!” The door jingled behind her, and she joined the foot traffic they had observed.

“Hey, this is--”

“ALYA I AM FREAKING OUT--”

“Excuse me,” Alya whispered to her coworkers, phone pressed to her collarbone. She walked out into her work’s stairwell and placed it back at her ear. “What’s up, Lucky, are you okay? Is there akuma trouble?”

Her voice instantly began cascading from the phone, frantic and unceasing. “Well, there  _ was _ an akuma, but we defeated her no problem. Afterwards, my dad came and found me, and I was still all suited up, yeah? So I was trying not to be awkward and give myself away, but then he asked if we could go on a walk together and--”

“Woah, slow down,” Alya said. “I’m barely understanding.”

The sound of a deep breath crackled my phone static. “I just told my dad everything, all of it. And he--” A wet gasp.

Tears? Did that  _ bastard _ \--? “Did it not go well?” Alya tried to keep her voice soothing, but she would not  _ hesitate _ to storm out of work right now. Researching her articles meant nothing if he--

“No! He--” Lucky sniffled, a noise crackled by the phone. “He took it really well. I was so scared, but he gave me a hug and told me that he loved me and I-- Alya it was terrifying but  _ I did it _ .”

She let the anger melt and instead smiled. “I’m so proud of you, girl. That took a lot of guts.”

Another sniffle. “I think I’m going to tell Maman soon. Not today, or tomorrow, but… I’m about to be ready.”

About to be ready, huh?

Alya knew the feeling. When Lucky hung up several minutes later, when she returned to her computer, she found herself researching something unrelated to her reporting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter is a tad short but like I said last week, it was written during AP test time so most of my energy was going toward that. Speaking of which, other than my chem redo, all of schoolwork for this year is done!! WOohoo!! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to leave a comment or a kudos (I'm happy to say that I have a screenshot from that short time the kudos was at 69). I also think y'all would enjoy the Come From Away soundtrack, as that is what is stuck in my head as I write these end notes.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	15. Complex

Spending her younger years as a superhero had taught Alya a multitude of lessons: city navigation is harder when you’re walking on rooftops, elbows and knees can move with force, remember to charge your phone, etcetera etcetera. One of the most important, however, was that people and situations were complex. Nearly everything existed from multiple perspectives and with layers; there was always another way of looking at things. She supposed that this was an integral part of the Fox Miraculous. Illusions meant adding or wiping away these intricacies. 

Even in everyday life, Alya found such complexities. 

On a Sunday afternoon, Anne Marie was over and helping bake a cake. Was there any occasion? Well, no. Anne Marie had just wanted to bake something, and Nino was in the mood for red velvet. Did they really need a more sophisticated reason though?

As was always the case when the three ended up in the kitchen together, things got messy.

“Salt!” Anne called from where she stood above the cook book. With a wooden spoon sticking out haphazardly, a bowl of mixed ingredients sat on the counter next to it. While she rummaged for the appropriate spoon in the measuring drawer, Nino grabbed the salt from the pantry.

“Here you go.” He placed it in her waiting hand.

Anne chirped back, “Thank you much.” She began tipping the container to pour it into the waiting half teaspoon.

“Bup, bup, bup!” Alya adjusted Anne Marie’s hands to be above the bowl. “Don’t be spilling on the counter.”

She protested, “But then it’ll overflow into the batter!”

“You can do that with salt.” Alya shrugged. “It’s just there to make the other flavors pop, a little extra won’t hurt anything.”

Anne furrowed her eyebrows but did as she was told. 

The three continued on with making the cake, with similar interjections following. 

“Nino, you can’t lick the spoon yet, we’re not  _ done _ \--”

“Not that much sugar, Bug! Follow the recipe.”

“Alya, I swear to God if you don’t stop snitching there’s going to be no batter left.”

All the arguments come with a playful smack or a mischievous grin, without any real bite. Anne Marie hopped onto Alya’s back to achieve the height necessary to reach the vegetable oil, Alya hip bumped Nino out of the way to grab the red food coloring, Nino yanked Anne Marie into a headlock in order to sneak a finger for a final snitch, and so on and so forth. 

When the cake came out of the oven, when it had cooled and Alya served them each a slice, even then they didn’t stop. 

“Spots’ slice is totally bigger than mine, can’t believe you love her more than me.”

“ _ Why _ are the two of you putting whipped cream on your cake, I thought adults would have good taste.”

“I’m going to take away your forks if you don’t stop swordfighting.”

Alya would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the banter. These playful arguments were less fun, though, when juxtaposed against their serious ones. Against the ones fraught with emotions. Against the ones that actually mattered.

“You know we just want the best for you, right?” Nino said one night over a game of Ticket to Ride. No one had said anything about Child Welfare that evening, yet Alya instinctively knew his words' origin.

Anne Marie grabbed two cards: a red, then a rainbow wild. “I know you care about me. I care about you guys too. But I don’t agree with your idea of what’s best.”

He sighed.

Alya nudged his shoulder and gave him a small smile. Nino weakly returned it. 

Because she hadn’t gotten much out of her research yet, she hadn’t shared her idea with him. If Anne feared going into the system and was afraid it would interfere with her being Spots... then really she just needed someone to take her in immediately. People who already knew she was Spots.

The problem came in figuring out how to file for custody when she and Nino didn’t have a blood relation to Anne, and explaining how they met would be difficult. They could probably say something about knowing Adrien, her teacher, but again, Alya needed to research.

Both types of arguments, the ones with substance and the ones with humor, came from the same people, and the same place in their hearts. Alya cared about Nino and Anne, so she would tease them and fight for their safety. 

She often noticed layers in things other than their relationship, such as when hearing stories about the Agreste family from different sources. Although Alya had warned Lucky that her parents often told their own tales and if she didn’t want to share her identity she needed to refrain from saying anything that would give it away, that hadn’t brought Lucky to completely refraining from giving anecdotes.

“So I got home from work today to find Marinette throwing away this huge, lumpy bag, and she wouldn’t tell me what was in it,” Adrien squawked over the phone on a Saturday morning. “I’m half convinced she was hiding a body, and frankly, I’m offended she didn’t let me help dispose of it.”

“What is marriage if not a promise to help the other get away with murder?” Alya smirked. 

“Exactly!” he exclaimed. “But do you know what it was? Has she mentioned anything to you? I’m dying to know.”

She shook her head despite the fact that he couldn’t see it. “Nah, I got nothing.”

And Alya would continue to have nothing on the subject until that evening, when Lucky told her own version of the tale.

“My mom wanted to surprise my dad right? ‘Cause their anniversary is coming up? So she bought all this  _ really shitty _ Chat Noir merch, like the kind that has derpy blue eyes. There was a whole pile in the living room, but when my dad got home, she hadn’t had time to put it all together.” She giggled. Spots wasn’t there that evening, so she spoke freely about her parents’ identities. “So, she quickly stuffed it in a garbage bag and pretended to throw it out, and I’m pretty sure he knows that something’s up, but my mom won’t tell him anything. He even started asking me and my siblings about it, but you’re a fool if you think we told him anything.”

Nino and Alya snickered at the story, and the latter took a mental note to congratulate them on their wedding anniversary; she’d completely forgotten.

A different time, Lucky complained about Emma’s recent behavior. “My sister--” Spots’ sat at the dinner table with her and the adults, meaning no names, “--has been super grumpy lately. Like, yesterday I sniffled too loudly and she chewed me out. She’s always had a thing with sniffling, but it’s ridiculous how pissy she’s been.”

Alya winced in sympathy. “My older sister got like that sometimes growing up. Just give her some space, she’s probably just stressed.”

“Is it nice, having siblings?” Spots said. A soft puff of self-deprecating laughter found its way through her nose. “I mean, when they’re not in bad moods?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Alya could see Nino’s face crease in sadness. She squeezed his hand underneath the table as Lucky answered. “I mean, yeah, most of the time. Even when you’re fighting, you still know they’ve got your back, you know?”

Spots smiled and nodded.

During a later conversation, when Alya returned to her and Adrien’s favorite café with said man, she mentioned Emma to see if she could tease out any information. 

It worked.

“Emma’s been going through a rough time lately.” Adrien said, sipping his coffee. “You remember her play,  _ Cyrano de Bergerac _ ? I don’t think she was quite prepared for the workload Roxane would bring. It’s a lot of long hours at rehearsal, and learning how to balance school and theater.” 

Alya nodded in understanding. 

“Speaking of my children--” His mouth sprung into a playful pout. “--you knew who Lucky was this whole time, didn’t you!”

She snickered. “I know she’s one of your kids, and I know she’s not Emma, but I don’t know anything beyond that. No spoilers!”

“I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner.” He took a calm drink, his words discarding any dramatism his precious statement had. “I feel like I should’ve noticed.”

“Do you think she would’ve wanted that though? Having that happen before she was ready, out of her control?” Alya tilted her head in question.

Adrien sighed. “I suppose not. Still, what kind of dad am I if I don’t notice what’s going on in my kids’ lives?”

Her lips formed a silent “oh,” and her hands reached out across the table to scoop up his for a squeeze. “You’re not your father, Adrien.”

He smirked. “See, consciously, I know that. My brain knows that.” Then he shook his head. “But even after all these years, I don’t think I’ve ever really processed it. I’m not sure that doubt will go away.”

Alya squeezed his hands again. “Well, I’ll be here to remind you of the truth until it does.” She smacked his forehead lightly. “I’ll get it through your dumb skull someday.”

Adrien gave a small laugh. “I hope so.”

It was nice to speak at least somewhat openly about Lucky. Although discussing which one of Adrien’s children was strictly off limits, they could talk about what shenanigans she’d gotten up to this week, what excuse for “missing dinner” at the Césaire household she’d given, and on and on. Of course, Nino and Alya conversed on this regularly, but ever since knowing that Lucky was an Agreste, she’d been dying to talk about her to one of her parents, one of Alya’s best friends. Now, she finally got to experience that.

Hearing the different perspectives of Lucky and her parents reminded Alya of how everything existed in layers. It helped her remember to read into situations, to see their complexity. So when she listened to Adrien and Marinette tell stories about their children, she couldn’t help but find parallels between the two potential Lucky’s. 

Both Hugo and Louis had been spending more time out of the house lately. 

Marinette said one evening over the phone, “Hugo’s been going out with his friends a lot. It’s always ‘I had a study session with Arlette’ or ‘I’m having a sleepover with Ryan tonight, that okay?’”

On a different day at the coffee shop, Adrien leaned back in his chair. “Louis’ robotics club has been kicking into gear this year. I guess they’re really determined to win Regionals because he’s always rushing off to cram in a little more time on his team’s robot.”

Both steered clear away from the superhero merchandising. 

During that same conversation about her children, Marinette mentioned, “It’s funny watching the kids interact with all the superhero merch that exists. Emma loves to point out the Lucky stuff, but she’s only shown interest in buying a couple of things. Louis and Hugo are both completely averse to all of it, except for one Spots t-shirt that Hugo owns.” She giggled. “He’d never admit it, but I kinda suspect he’s got a bit of a celebrity crush on her.”

Alya gave her own laugh at that. If Hugo did moonlight as a superhero, then Marinette had hit the mark perfectly. If not, they would need to prepare for some sibling drama.

Even amongst these two growing similarities, there was one key difference between Hugo and Louis, at least from their parents’ watchful eyes.

On a Sunday morning, Marinette said over the phone. “Even with how busy he’s gotten, Hugo seems happier these last couple of months. I think maybe he hit his stride at school with his friends. I’m not really sure what, but it’s like Hugo… found himself? Like he’s more comfortable with who he is.”

Adrien brought up a correlating point about Louis. “He’s definitely been more stressed out and tired. I’ve asked about it, and Louis says it’s school being a little harder this year. Hugo’s offered to help him out with homework recently, so hopefully that helps.”

Even if Alya didn’t quite know what to make of this information, she figured it would come together into something in time. She still liked noticing and knowing these details about the world around her. If the world was going to be a complex and layered phenomenon, then Alya wanted to know about it. The way situations and relationships paralleled each other, the way they differed, it was like watching an artist add stroke after stroke to a painting until it grew into a beautiful portrait. Alya wanted to see all of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to Mamma Mia's soundtrack Right Now I just watched the movie and ABBA is Fantastic, but I guess we knew that already :P
> 
> Another chapter, woohoo! As you may have noticed, there's been a little update in the chapter count. While I don't have the rest of this entirely noted out, so it might flux up or down by one or two, that is my current estimate. I'll save all my thank yous and goodbyes for that end chapter, but I do have a question that I'm looking for feedback on.
> 
> Would you guys be interested in any continuations with these characters? Although a long story like this one is currently not in the plans, I would be up for creating a Series to post shorter bits and pieces in this universe (ex. Lucky's first time with her Miraculous, certain events from a different character's perspective, etc). And I Know that before now I've been all "Please don't leave suggestions" to the people who have asked in the comments, but I likely would be taking suggestions as it would be largely written based on what you guys are interested in seeing. TLDR: More, shorter stories in this universe, yay or nay? Let me know in the comments
> 
> Thanks for reading! And thank you for getting this far in the end notes, I'm impressed.


	16. Everybody Talks, Everybody Talks

Spots and Lucky were tired. Maybe it wasn’t obvious to the average civilian glancing at the news, maybe it wasn’t even obvious to themselves, but Alya could see it clear as day. Despite their love for their roles as Paris’ superheroes, the stress of saving the day with a clear “Or Else” wore on the teens.

Alya remembered being a superhero. The thrill of racing across rooftops, the attempts at balancing two lives, the knowing that the pressure she experienced was infinitesimal compared to that of Chat Noir and Ladybug: it never faded far from her recall. So when Lucky shakily admitted to discovering Monarch Moth’s identity, Alya wanted to jump on that chance to end their reign. It didn’t quite go that smoothly, however.

“You’re not going to tell us who?” she said, straightening her spine like she’d experienced an electric shock.

She, Nino, Lucky, and Spots were gathered around the Césaire dining table. Sunlight still brushed the windowsill, but only for a few minutes longer. Before they picked out a board game as was traditional, Lucky had dropped this bomb of information, leaving them stumbling to catch up.

Lucky pressed her lips together, hands clasped together just as tightly. Her whole body had wound up on itself, tense like a spring in a watch. “I really didn’t want to keep it a secret that I knew, but I can’t tell you who it is. I just… I can’t.”

Nino looked her over, as if trying to see into her thoughts. “I don’t understand, Lucky. Do you think you’re protecting them by doing this?” He asked what Alya herself had been thinking. Why else would she want to keep it a secret?

“We’ve talked about about how they likely don’t want to be akumatizing people, defeating Monarch Moth will be saving them as much as the rest of Paris.” Alya’s eyes widened in realization. “Unless…?”

“No, no they don’t like it either! Nino was right about the Miraculous being corrupted.” Oh thank God, Paris did not need another someone actively trying to traumatize its citizens. Lucky shifted in her seat, no less rigid than before. “This… this isn’t about their identity.”

Spots responded exasperatedly, making Alya wonder if Lucky had told her before admitting to the adults. “Then whose?” 

Taking a deep breath, she visibly steeled herself. “Mine.”

Confused, Alya stared at the teen. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the others reacting similarly, Nino trying to understand, and Spots--

“So what, you’d rather keep the rest of us in the dark than just telling us your real name?” Her voice came out wet, tinged with hurt. Oh shit, there was  _ definitely _ a previous conversation that Alya hadn’t been there for.

“It’s more complicated than that,” was all Lucky managed, also clearly holding in her emotions.

“Whatever.” Spots shoved her chair out and stood abruptly. “I gotta go.”

As she turned to exit, Lucky moved to follow, standing and reaching her hand toward the other teen. “Spots, c’mon--”

“Nope, I’m out.” She stormed out of the dining room, with Lucky only a second behind. Simultaneously, Nino and Alya stood and followed, but by the time they caught up with the latter, Spots had fled out the front door. Hand reached out listlessly, Lucky was frozen in the doorway. When Nino placed a palm on one of her hunched shoulders, she shook him off and was out the door in an instant.

With a sigh, he said, “Do we chase after them?”

Alya shook her head. “I don’t think that would help any. They’ll come to us.”

Come to them, they did. Or at least, Spots did. Several days later, she had returned to the apartment to make apple pie. She hadn’t come to talk about Lucky, however, but instead Monarch Moth.

“I want them defeated, but I don’t know what I’ll do… I don’t want to stop being Spots.” Discussing the villain’s identity had apparently brought the idea of “After” to the forefront of her thoughts.

Alya remembered her own contemplations back in the day. Even with Hawkmoth growing as an evermounting and seemingly unstoppable threat, Rena Rouge had realized when the war was coming to a close. Of course, winning hadn’t been inevitable, so she thought about both a winning and losing scenario, and permutations thereof.

If they lost, if Hawkmoth stole Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculouses, who knew what he would do. Despite his obvious goal of taking the jewelry, the motive had always been obscure. Toward the very end, Rena suspected Hawkmoth’s identity, which shed light on what he might want with his Miraculous wish, but in earlier speculations.... She’d generated multiple scenarios based on this information, varying from running a resistance group against his evil regime to nursing a lifetime of wounds.

If they won, that meant a return to superhero-free normalcy. While Rena knew why she fought Hawkmoth and why he needed to be defeated, she couldn’t help but lament losing that part of life. It wasn’t just about not running around on rooftops and the thrill of danger and her kwami Trixx (though she would be lying if she said they weren’t major factors), it was about the air of magic that the Miraculouses brought. Anything was possible in Paris during those years; Rena couldn’t stand to lose that. It was about seeing that person she was as Rena and not wanting to lose her, lose her strengths and skills that her civilian self didn’t have.

So Alya understood what Anne Marie meant when she said she didn’t want to stop being Spots.

As Nino slid the pie into the oven, Anne Marie hovered at one end of the kitchen, leaned up against a countertop. Alya wiped down the counter for any remaining mess and didn’t look up when she said, “Well, I don’t think the Agrestes would mind too much if you wanted to hold onto your Miraculous for a little while after the fact.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Anne’s hopeful stare. “You mean it? You think I could still be Spots?”

Plus, her desire to be her superhero self… that was what motivated her to stay at her mother’s house. Alya really wasn’t surprised to see that same emotion popping here too.

Standing and taking off his oven mitts, Nino nodded at Anne. “Mmhmm. Besides, even if you’re not saving Paris anymore, it doesn’t all have to go back to the way it was.”

Alya said, “You’d still be welcome to visit here as often as you like.”

“And Lucky’s not going to let your friendship die, you’ll still have her.” He gave the teen a sympathetic look. “Even if you are fighting right now.”

Anne Marie groaned. “I just don’t get it. What could Monarch’s identity have to do with her? I could just promise to not ask how she figured it out, if that’s the problem. And even if it’s not, if she  _ has _ to tell me her identity to tell me Monarch’s, then what’s the big deal! Does she not trust me?!”

The crack in her voice gave away how much she actually worried about that last possibility.

“ _ Hey _ .” Nino moved to stand next to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure that’s not it. Lucky and you are close as anything; she cares about you a lot.”

While Alya didn’t join them on that end of the kitchen, she did contribute vocally. “Anne, honestly, I agree with you. I don’t know what the situation is with her--” She had her guesses, of course, but concrete details? Not in the slightest. “--but I can’t help but suspect that the reasons she has are more about her than you. Nino’s right, and Lucky knows how important that knowledge is to winning. She wouldn’t lock it up without motivation.”

The folding of arms, the shifting feet, the downward gaze: Anne Marie was still clearly upset. But she sniffled and said meekly, “You think?”

Nino nodded with a small smile. “I do, sweetheart.”

As previously realized, Lucky and Alya didn’t get that much one-on-one time. The former didn’t come over nearly as often as Spots, leaving less opportunities. Combine that with the high likelihood of Nino or the other teen joining, and the pair rarely had the chance to chat just the two of them.

They lay on the carpet in the Césaire living room, watching the ceiling fan spin and spin and spin. 

“I haven’t told Spots as much as I probably should,” Lucky admitted to the still room.

Alya said nothing; she only hummed to let the other know she was listening.

Lucky sucked in a breath. “It’s kind of the same problem that I was running into with my dad and am going to have with my mother. I’ve put so many secrets into Lucky that I can’t reveal one without all the others. They’re just one big, untangleable knot.”

“Like earbuds?” Alya asked with a nudge, knowing that the teen would appreciate the joke. Opening up meant exposing sore wounds, and for her, humor was a soothing balm.

“Earbuds left in your back pocket.” Lucky replied with only partially fake solemness. “Spots doesn’t know that Ladybug and Chat Noir are my parents. She definitely doesn’t know that I’m trans. What if she gets upset that I’ve been hiding so much?”

Alya just shook her head, though she wasn’t sure if the action was visible to the teen with them both staring upwards. “I can’t promise that that won’t be her gut reaction, but you two will work it out. It’s your life, ultimately it’s your business who knows what about it.”

After a moment of thought, Lucky continued, not responding directly to Alya’s words. “It’s been nice, having someone know me as a girl and only as a girl. There’s never any doubt about who I am, and I love having that. I kind of screwed myself over with presenting female as a superhero though. If I’d just stayed closeted here too, then telling people my identity wouldn’t mean outing myself.”

Considering this, Alya hummed. “But would you have been happy doing that? A chance to look exactly how you want to, and not taking it?”

“No.” Lucky scoffed. “I wouldn’t be a superhero at all actually.”

Alya turned her head toward the teen, trying to make out her expression. The latter stared mutely at the ceiling, mouth bunched up bitterly. 

“You mean you would quit?”

Lucky’s eyes squinted. “No, I just mean that that’s why I took the Cat Miraculous in the first place.”

“You figured out it could change how you looked.” Alya nodded in understanding.

“I figured out it could change my hair length,” she corrected. “My mom was making fun of my dad for doing that one day, and I guess I just had a light bulb moment. Next thing you know, I’m  _ Mission Impossible _ -ing my way into stealing my dad’s ring and finding out it could change a lot more than just my hair.”

“I messed with my body too. Made myself skinnier,” Alya admitted, turning her face back toward the ceiling. It just kept spinning above their heads, unchanging. If she focused on any one blade, its rotations seemed to slow, but without that attention, they all blurred together. 

Lucky said, “You have this idea of yourself, of how you should look. And when it’s that easy to make it a reality--”

“--how can you not?”

Two little metal strings dangled amidst the lightbulbs in the fan. Did they even do anything? It wasn’t like there wasn’t a switch on the wall to control the device, but maybe the cords served the same purpose. If only experimenting didn’t require standing up; Alya was curious now.

Instead, she asked, “Why won’t you tell us Monarch Moth’s identity?”

Lucky grimaced. “It would mean revealing my own identity. I mentioned that it’s been nice having you guys only know me as a girl, right?” It was a rhetorical question, only meant to connect the two parts of their conversation.

“Nino and I are included in that?” 

“Yeah. You may know my civilian identity, but you don’t know that it’s  _ me _ . But you, you already know that I’m transgender. Spots doesn’t and I… don’t think I could spring that on her on top of the Monarch Moth stuff. But now we’re fighting and I don’t really want to talk to her at all, much less come out to her.”

Alya hummed. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to ask.”

“Shoot,” Lucky said, her tone flipping uncaringly into the room. Maybe tired was the word. The two teens were so tired.

“What do you think needs to happen to fix your relationship?” 

The question hung in the air for a moment. Alya was sure Lucky already knew the answer, and Alya already knew the answer. However, knowing something and admitting it were two entirely different concepts, and you couldn’t act on a plan that you hadn’t admitted would work.

Lucky sighed. “We need to talk about it, also known as confessing to the thing that made me anxious enough to cause the situation in the first place.”

“Ding ding ding,” Alya said. “Got it in one.”

Flipping onto her stomach, Lucky faced her with a groan. “You don’t  _ have _ to be an emotionally mature adult. Why not just let me die in my teenage angst?”

Alya mirrored her position. The other’s face was a sort of faux-grumpiness she could recall with perfect clarity on both Marinette and Adrien’s faces. “I’m playing the long term suffering game. If you survive this dilemma, then you can go on to even more, which I can watch and laugh at.”

“Booooooo.”

Spots and Lucky were tired, but hopefully,  _ hopefully _ , this would mean that their stress would soon come to an end. They deserved a good nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kronk voice* oh yeah, it's all coming together
> 
> Alright y'all the chapter count is official!! Unless something Wild happens two chapters from now that even I wasn't told about, we're down to three more chapters. It's exciting right? This is the longest thing I've written Ever; the second place goes to something that's 7000 words. It's kinda insane.
> 
> This week's music rec is every single youtube video where the ad funds are donated to support the Black Lives Matter movement. Play them at at least half volume and don't skip the ads, I think we're overdue for some racial equality. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Seriously, I would not have gotten this far in this work without your guys' continued support, thank you so much <3


	17. Just Marker on the Board, No White Background Left

Alya wasn’t there when Spots and Lucky talked through their problems. She didn’t get to see them explain and make up and come back together. But in the following days, there was a shift in their interactions; she did get to see that. Spots shed her spines, and Lucky relaxed in her own skin. (And if they blushed whenever their hands brushed, she saw that too.)

Despite their making up, Alya had expected some buffer time between that and Lucky sharing her newfound information. A week or two at least. Then, she would hear it at a very solemn post-dinner get together at her apartment, with all four of them present and probably Spots encouraging her partner throughout.

To say the least, she’s a little surprised when Lucky texts her she’ll be over after supper, then follows it with, _I saw Monarch Moth transform. He’s my brother Louis_. 

Alya actually tumbled out of her chair at that. 

“Woah there.” Nino poked his head into the living room, where she lay on the floor. Upon seeing her position, he rushed over to help her up. “You okay, babe?”

She just handed him her phone.

“Holy fucking shit. Just like that.”

Alya nodded. “Just like that.”

The two sat down on their squishy, green couch, both with eyes widened a little larger than normal. 

“No wonder she couldn’t tell us Monarch’s identity without revealing her own. He’s literally one of the two possibilities for her identity.” Her tented hands pressed against her bowed forehead.

Even if Louis (or any of the Agreste children) being Monarch Moth hadn’t occurred to her, it _did_ make sense. Somewhere in the depths of Alya’s memory, she recalled Adrien admitting months ago that he’d forgotten to put away the Butterfly Miraculous. Chances were that by leaving it out, it’d fallen into Louis’ hands and in turn pulled him into its corrupted clutches. Regardless of Adrien’s involvement, the kid would have more access to it as a member of the household. 

A few spare details began assembling in Alya’s mind, not quite a plan yet, but the beginning bones upon which to build the whole. If they didn’t have to engage with an active villain and could instead stealth mission their way into stealing the Butterfly Miraculous back….

“So that makes Hugo Lucky, right?” Nino’s voice broke into her thoughts, pulling her back into the present.

Alya groaned. “Holy fuck you’re right.”

Learning Louis’ identity as Monarch Moth was one thing. Monarch didn’t have a personality or face or any real history beyond “likely not in support of akumitazations and only doing so because of corruption.” He was a victim to a very specific malady, and knowing his identity was a key step in curing it. 

Lucky on the other hand…. Lucky was a person, not some far off enemy. She was the kid who beat Alya’s butt at board games, who made up excuses for being late to dinner when she was never expected to come, who worried about what would happen when she let people in. Alya had known that either Louis or Hugo hid behind the mask, but seeing it splayed so blatantly in front of her… 

The two were one. Refractions of a whole. Okay. Alya could learn that. She loved Lucky enough to do so.

That evening, surrounding the Césaire’s dining table like a war counsel, the four gathered in the apartment to concoct a final winning strategy. A whiteboard, which Alya had borrowed from her work, lay in between them. Each participant had their own colored marker: Alya with orange, Nino green, Spots red, and Lucky blue. 

“So, we know Monarch Moth’s identity; how can we use this to our advantage?” Alya prompted, dry erase marker posed to write down ideas.

“We take a stand when he’s not transformed and get the Butterfly Miraculous from him then,” Spots said.

“I like it. It’ll be harder for him to put up a defense.”

“Wait,” Nino interjected. “What if he doesn’t keep the Miraculous on his person? What do we do then.”

Lucky chewed her lip. “We search his stuff first, see if we can get it away from him without a fight.”

Alya scribbled this down. “Okay, got it. So what are we searching exactly, and what do we need to do to do that searching?”

“His school bag and his room are the most likely places.” As his sister, Lucky would know better than the rest of them.

“Then we need to get his backpack off of him,” Nino continued. “Preferably at the same time as another team looks in his room.”

Spots tapped her finger on the tabletop. “So we need one team to take Louis out, preferably to an event that will separate him and his bag but still motivate him to bring it in the first place.”

“And another to do the room searching,” he finished.

Alya considered how they would group up. “Who here is close enough to Louis to be able to hang out with him and not raise suspicion?”

Lucky raised her hand to no one’s surprise, but so did Spots. “We’re in our school’s art club together.” She shrugged, a self conscious smirk curving her mouth.

“I would rather have myself in the room search team,” Lucky said, turning toward Alya. “I think he’ll feel a little bit more comfortable afterwards knowing that it was family digging through his room.” She gave her own unsure shrug. “Plus, I’m probably your best bet in picking out what’s unusual, so it makes tactical sense too.”

Even without the addition, Alya supported the thought. Louis was a victim to this Monarch Moth business as much as all the akumatized, forced to do evil beyond his control. If they could make the situation any more agreeable for him, she wanted to. “I’ll jot you down.”

Lucky nodded with a comfortable if small smile.

“So that leaves me on bag duty?” Spots asked.

Nino gave her a thumbs up. “Looks like it!”

Alya turned toward the teen, considering. “I’m putting you in charge of figuring out what activity would work. Only you got the information to know what makes sense.”

Spots saluted with a smirk. “Aye aye.”

“Do you think you’ll want one of us adults to come? We can tag team; you distract Louis while one of us does the bag searching.”

She pressed her lips together in thought. “Send Nino with me, I think I have an idea.”

“Got it.” Alya faced Lucky. “Then I’m with you.”

“Hell yeah.”

By the end of the night, multi-colored ink covered the dry erase board. Squiggled arrows connecting scribbled words shrouded its white surface, creating a tangled web of information. Green on top of red on top of blue on top of orange. A plan formed in a matter of hours, ready to be taken to action.

Deciding to tell the Agreste parents about Louis and their plan to free him from the Miraculous’ corruption was the right choice, but a hard one emotionally to enact. Alya invited the couple over the following evening for an Emergency Miraculous Update. Luckily, Nino did most of the talking. 

“So Louis--” Adrien choked.

“Is Monarch Moth, yeah.” Nino finished. 

The four were crowded in the living room, with the Césaires split between chairs and the Agrestes together on the couch. Marinette gripped Adrien’s shoulder, while he looked on, shellshocked. Telling them-- Alya had to believe it was the right choice. Not only would it make it infinitely easier to proceed with stopping the villain, but the couple would find out anyway. It made sense to tell them when they could process and feel like they could do something about it instead of gripping with the “What if’s?” after the fact.

“It’s not his fault,” Alya assured. “The corruption--”

“Is that better though?” Marinette asked, staring through Alya instead of seeing her. “To have him be suffering under a Miraculous’ influence instead of acting on his own?”

Alya wasn’t sure if that was a valid point, thinking about Gabriel. He’d chosen to akumatize each and every one of his victims, and well, anyone could see how that had turned out for him. But Marinette was speaking from the unconditional love of a mother, who would always want to minimize her child’s suffering.

“I don’t know,” was the answer Alya settled with. “I don’t know.”

Everyone quieted at this. None of them knew either.

“How did I not notice?” Adrien asked.

And Alya didn’t think that was a valid point either. “You did.”

He scoffed and gave her a look like, _sure I did_. 

“You talk about him, all your kids honestly, all the time, Adrien. You’ve talked about how worn down he’s been lately, about how he’s been more closed off than normal. Not making the huge jump that it was because of a corrupted Miraculous, it doesn’t--” She sat forward, pushing her eye contact onto him. “It doesn’t make you your father.”

Marinette’s eyes focused for the first time since Nino had dropped the news. Instead of staring through Alya, she straightened her back and looked right at her, _seeing_ her. “What can we do to help?”

It had been a long time since Alya had seen Ladybug and Marinette both present so fiercely at the same time. It was the superhero’s strength and determination and ferocity, but galvanized by Marinette’s love for her family, both blood and found.

Alya grinned. “Here’s the plan...”

That Friday evening, the Agreste parents took Emma out to see a local theater production. With Anne Marie out with Louis (plus Nino nearby to work whatever plan she had concocted), Lucky had her house to herself. Well, until Alya rang the doorbell.

Lucky opened the door as her civilian self, known to the rest of the world as Hugo. Her hair was cropped short, a stark contrast to her superhero self’s lengthy locks, and she wore a too-big hoodie that obscured her body’s shape. “You’re late for dinner,” she greeted with a smirk.

Alya gave a faux gasp as she was let into the house. “How the tables have turned.”

Although Adrien had inherited no small amount of money from his father, the Agreste home was no more fancy or large than most other families of their size. The coordinated color schemes in every single shared room (and even in the childrens’ bedrooms) clearly came from Marinette’s influence, and the utter rejection of minimalism in any form from Adrien’s. Paper weights and picture frames and souvenirs covered every single available surface, but the matching tones kept the house from feeling cluttered or messy.

As Alya followed Lucky up the staircase to Louis’ room, her eyes followed the progression of family photos on the walls, which were ordered chronologically. First came a portrait shot of a younger Adrien and Marinette, hands wrapped around each other’s waists. A couple frames passed, and baby twins appeared in their arms. A couple more, and a third infant joined them. Over a decade of life captured in snapshots, years that Alya had gotten to see in real time. 

The most recent photo showed the five giving their best “say cheese” smiles. Even with a dusting of makeup, light bags marred the underneath of Louis’ eyes, a fact she tried to ignore.

When Lucky and she reached his room, they opened the door to find a surprisingly normal looking child’s bedroom. Unlike how Gabriel had littered his mansion with butterfly motifs, Louis left no hints at his secret identity. Various models, from tiny airplanes to miniature buildings, covered shelves upon shelves on the light blue walls. A weighted blanket the color of pine needles lay on a crisp white bed, decorated with various green pillows. In the corner, some Legos and a laptop sat on a desk, and on the opposite wall, an oak closet door stood closed.

Lucky wasted no time taking in her surroundings (which made sense, she lived here). Immediately, she flopped onto the floor to search under the bed. Reminding herself of their goal, Alya opened the closet and began digging.

As she flipped through the hangers, she decided to make some conversation. “So, is Plagg around here anywhere?”

Lucky grunted. “He’s downstairs raiding the cheese stash. With no one home, he has free reign of the fridge.”

“I have never heard anything so on brand.” Alya laughed. “Adrien still bought camembert after you took the Miraculous right? How do you think he rationalized the same amount of cheese being eaten?”

She snorted, although the sound was somewhat muffled by her pulling herself underneath Louis’ bed. “Bold of you to believe I know. I’m like, eighty percent sure he just thought I’d gone to town on it with Plagg ‘gone,’ and honestly that’s really disturbing.”

“That’s right, you’re the only Agreste kid who actually likes camembert.” Alya nodded appreciatively with her face buried in hoodies. “Gotta say, that really worked out identity wise.”

“I’d be lying if I said it actually hasn’t helped a lot.”

With everything hung up thoroughly investigated, Alya moved on to the built in drawers in the closet. Unfortunately, this meant sticking her mitts in layers of underwear. “Scooby Doo always made breaking and entering look so easy and glamorous, can’t believe Daphne lied to me.”

“Technically, I let you in, and you have my parents’ permission, so this isn’t illegal, just a little unethical.” Lucky emerged with a shoebox in hand. “Let’s see what we got here.”

Alya glanced out just in time to see her open it, glance inside, and melt a little. "I think it's like, a box of memories. It's got some report cards, some photos, some medals, this random rock."

"I used to have one of those." She smiled, fondly recalling all that she put inside. "Same general stuff. I printed out my first published article and put it in there."

"Maybe I need to get one." Lucky thought about this for a moment, then turned her efforts on Louis’ desk’s drawers.

With her done with underneath the bed and Alya nearly halfway complete with searching the closet, worry began to build in her stomach. What if they didn’t find the Butterfly Miraculous? What if they had to take their efforts to Louis himself? Still, she pushed onward, not allowing her determination to waver, and instead focused on the socks in front of her. The socks drawer was supposed to be the classic hiding spot, right? So where were its secrets?

“How dare he be creative and not hide his Miraculous with the socks,” Alya muttered.

Lucky just laughed at her. “My brother is nothing if not creative.”

“I can see that.” She turned her head to give the multitude of models a look. As she stared at the plywood and glue sculptures, Alya’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lucky--”

“Charlotte, actually,” she corrected.

Alya gave her an inquisitive smile. “Is that the name you picked out?”

“Yeah.” Charlotte gave a small grin of her own. “When I’m a civilian, it’s Charlotte.”

“It’s beautiful, Charlotte.” Alya tested the name on her lips. “Wait, what was I saying again?” 

“Uhhhh, you were looking at Louis’ models?” she tried.

The lightbulb flickered back on in her head. “That’s right! Search his models, those have a ton of hiding places!”

Charlotte’s eyes widened in realization; then, she bolted to the shelves.

Alya’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Crap, that was going to be-- 

She yanked the device into view to find Nino’s contact shining on the screen, calling her. A click of a green button and, “Nino? What’s up?”

“I lost track of Anne and Louis for a little bit but--” He panted through the phone, clearly worn out from some burst of activity. “--They’re about two minutes away from home, you need to get out _now_.”

“Crap.” Alya hung up and began shoving socks back in their drawer. “Quick, we gotta clean this all up.”

With the same surge of energy she’d used to begin searching the models, Charlotte started shoving everything back into place. 

Alya smoothed the hangers, pressed the drawers back into place, and threw the closet door closed. A glance behind her revealed that while the teen cleaned the shelves, various boxes and other items from under the bed were scattered across the floor.

The front door opened on the floor below, and voices carried up the staircase into Louis’ bedroom. As Alya kicked stuff under the bed, Charlotte raced over to the window and unlatched it. “You’re gonna have to go out this way.”

“What?!”

She dragged the adult over to the orifice. “Out you go.”

Within seconds, Alya found herself clambering over the sill and onto a steep ledge of roofing. The window slammed shut behind her, but she was much more aware of the small space she had to stay on to not fall a story. Fortunately, she had spent much of her youth running around on rooftops such as this one, so Alya lept to the grassy lawn with no hesitation, tucking and rolling to spread the impact.

“What are you doing in my room?!” a voice cried from above.

“Just left my earbuds in here, calm down.”

Alya slipped away from the Agrestes’ house and into the dark night, feeling more agitated than ever.

One of Alya’s least favorite parts of living in Paris was the light pollution. Even hours after sunset, light from the city hid away the night sky, outshining the stars. When she was younger, her parents would drive her and her sisters out to Orient Forest Regional Natural Park, and they would spend a couple days camping and enjoying the swampy waters. Every night, weather allowing, they would go stargazing, teaching each other constellations and planet facts. Alya supposed there was some shitty analogy about light pollution and its capacity to be called an illusion. 

The point was, Alya _loved_ the stars. But when she returned home after searching for the Butterfly Miraculous, she couldn’t see them. The city’s streetlamps and nightlife kept them at bay as they did every night. Even with their unceasing efforts, her street and apartment building wore darkness like a trenchcoat, as if without the stars, shadows painted the world uncontrollably. 

She was the first back in the apartment, flipping the light switch on as she entered. While Alya waited for her family to arrive, she popped some frozen tater tots into the oven on a whim. It didn’t take long for another key to jingle out in the hallway, and Nino and Spots joined her in munching on potato-y goodness. The two caught her up on their mission.

“I finally managed to get Louis’ bag off of him by convincing him to do the ball pit with me--”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Alya interrupted Spots’ explanation. “I thought you went to an art exhibit; why was there a ball pit??”

She shrugged her off. “Don’t worry about it, it probably made sense in context.”

“It really didn’t,” Nino said, snatching up a handful of tater tots.

Spots shrugged again. “Either way, Louis set his bag down, Nino searched it, but no dice, he didn’t find anything.”

Right when they finished their story, Lucky made her own entrance, apologizing for not coming sooner. “Had to keep up appearances for the sibs, sorry dudes.”

Unfortunately, this meant that Spots and Nino felt obligated to re-share their tale for Lucky’s sake; however, it was worth it to see Lucky ask the same question Alya had.

“Wait, why was there a ball pit?”

“Not important! It gave us the opportunity to search Louis’ bag, and that’s all that matters!”

Lucky gave her own report on their mission, explaining that while they hadn’t found anything, their searches had been cut short. But then she continued, to Alya’s surprise, with some insight. “I’ll probably go back to look further, check out his models’ more in depth, but honestly? I don’t think we’re going to find the Butterfly Miraculous tucked away somewhere. If Louis realizes that it’s causing all the crap that’s happening, why would he keep putting it back on? It’s probably stuck on him.”

Alya swore under her breath. “That would make sense, yeah.”

Not only did it make reasoning-wise, it also wasn’t impossible. Normally, Miraculous users could remove their magic jewelry at will, but the brooch was corrupted. Hell, it had been corrupted by a Cataclysm, no less. It didn’t have to play by typical Miraculous rules; the Butterfly Miraculous could definitely trap a user into wielding it.

The non-violent recon mission had ultimately been unsuccessful: no corrupted Miraculous was recovered. Alya hardly considered it a failure, however, for they’d still gained knowledge about their enemy. Taking down Monarch Moth would be just that one degree easier, their planning that one degree more accurate, and that made all the digging through teen underwear and jumping out a window worth it. Plus, exhausting a non-confrontive option meant Alya would feel a lot better about actually fighting Louis.

By the end of the night, there wasn’t an inch on her borrowed white board that hadn’t been covered in dry erase writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say it with me now, “So That’s why both Louis And Hugo we’re tired when their parents were describing them!" Some people got Really Close in the comments for Monarch Moth’s identity, predicting Emma and Adrien, and I'm really proud of them for getting so far. Hope y'all enjoyed those red herrings :P
> 
> This week's music choice is still all of the Black Lives Matter videos and streams, seriously go play them and raise some money for free. You don't even have to listen, make your computer play a Bunch then stick some headphones into it so you don't have to hear. 
> 
> In other news, I made the series where other works in this universe will be uploaded. If you're interested in continuing with this world, go and give that a follow to get updates. I'll see you there, thank you for reading!!


	18. Butterfly Catching

Attempt Number Two was a little more complex than the previous. At the bare minimum, it involved more players.

It was weird, traveling to a location just to fight. Back in her day as a superhero, the villains had come to them. Driving two hours to a park with little in the way of supplies was definitely a new experience. 

Getting their opponent to Orient Forest wasn’t as hard as it had seemed. A conversation with Adrien and Marinette had them surprising their children (or two of them, one already knew and had suggested informing her parents) with a camping trip to the park. With Lucky’s transportation handled, Spots got her own ride from the Césaires, effectively bringing everyone to the selected battle grounds. (Alya tried not to think about how easily Anne Marie had convinced her mother to let her travel with complete strangers. She tried not to question whether she had told her mother at all and instead just trusted that her mother wouldn’t care enough to notice. She didn’t want to know.)

Regardless, Anne Marie showed up at their house at nine thirty that Saturday morning, sleeping bag tucked under her arm. No one was quite sure if they would be sleeping at the park, but at least it sold the camping guise. 

“You ready to go?” Alya called as she tossed a coil of rope into the trunk of the car. 

Anne Marie slid her sleeping bag next to a stack of blankets. “Looks like it.”

Alya took in the girl in front of her. Her clothes were the same old t-shirt, colorful pants combo as normal. Her blonde hair reached down to her shoulder blades, longer than when they had first met. Her expression was… controlled. Determined. Forcing down fear.

Brushing a loose strand behind Anne’s ear, Alya said, “You know, I used to do my sisters’ hair all the time when we were younger.” 

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Want me to give you double braids? We’ll have time on the drive, and it might be windy at the park.”

“I--” Anne Marie smiled softly. “I’d like that, yeah.”

One two hour drive later, Nino, Alya, and Anne had arrived at Orient Forest. As she clambered out of the car, Alya couldn’t help but remember all the days she had spent searching for frogs, recall all the nights she had spent stargazing. The same trees from that time still grew, and the same trails waited to be hiked on, and the same lakes--

“Getting nostalgic, huh?” After walking around from the driver’s side, Nino knocked shoulders with her fondly.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “Look, it gives us a tactical advantage if we know the terrain--”

Mischief twinkling in his eye, he poked her in the side. “You just wanted to visit.”

“Hmmm, I’ve decided you can shut up.” Alya turned to the trunk where Anne Marie had already begun silently unpacking. “C’mon, I brought sandwiches.”

Setting up the blanket for them all to sit on was easy. Eating the peanut butter and jelly meal that she’d packed was easy. Not worrying about the upcoming battle… was not easy. Instead of fighting it, Alya diverted the thought processes into reviewing the plan.

“It’s noon now,” she said, glancing at her phone to confirm. “The Agrestes will be here at one, that’s an hour from now.”

“I assure you that we can do basic math.” Anne snarked, roughly tearing away another bite of sandwich. When Nino placed a hand on her shoulder, she sighed. “Sorry, just...” Her hand gestured limply. “Nervous.”

Alya nodded in understanding. “It’s okay. I think we’re all a little on edge.”

“We’ll have each others’ backs,” Nino said. “We’re prepared, he’s out numbered, we’ll be okay.” She couldn’t help but believe his words when he laid them out so simply, like “the sky is blue, grass is green, we’ll be okay.” They would make it through this.

Anne Marie took one final bite and rose from the blanket. “We should get set up.”

Brushing her hands together for crumbs, Alya stood. “I’ll go grab our jewelry.”

Nino’s reunion with Wayzz was a quiet moment. After Alya handed him the Turtle Miraculous, he walked into the trees a bit before donning the bracelet. Not so far that they couldn’t be seen, but enough to give the two privacy. 

Tikki flew out from the picnic basket, where they had been snacking on cookies courtesy of Marinette. (Alya remembered the hand off. “You’ll get Tikki again soon.” “Hopefully. Until then, make sure she gets these.”) They nuzzled their head against Anne Marie’s, saying, “You ready to go?”

She pressed her eyelids closed. “Let’s hope so.”

When Alya placed the Fox Miraculous around her neck, Trixx flew out of it in a burst of light. “Hey there, kit!”

“You ready to kick some ass?” Alya asked. Nerves swirled in her stomach, but the only way to clear them away was to push forward.

Trixx smirked back. “Oh you know it.”

It was one o’clock, and Rena Rouge, Carapace, and Spots were hiding in the trees. From her vantage point, Rena could see the other two perched several trees away, both staring intently at the clearing below. In the distance, a family of figures approached.

“We’re almost to our camping spot, not too much farther,” Marinette’s voice said.

A shorter figure with long, dark hair pointed to something off the path. Emma called, “Ooh, that’s where the salamanders are gonna be at, can we go look?!”

“Can’t you wait to drop off your stuff?” complained a different person. That would be Louis, judging by the hair color.

Charlotte, recognizable with her cropped dark locks, dropped the tub she’d been carrying onto the trail. “Nah, let’s go!” 

The two darted off the path while Adrien sighed. Of course, this had all been planned out; he knew exactly what was happening and was simply doing his part. With those two away from Louis, Charlotte could transform while Emma found some place to hunker down. 

Marinette and Adrien escorted their remaining child to the clearing. That was Team Tree’s cue. Go Time. Without turning to her fellow superheroes, Rena signaled with her hand, and they leaped from their branches to the forest floor. 

“Aah!!” Louis yelped. His parents rushed away, giving them the space they needed. He cried, “What are you doing?!”

In no time at all, the superheroes had knotted him up in rope, pinning him to a tree. 

Crouching down next to him as Rena tied one last bow, Carapace apologized to him. “Sorry for the safety measures, kid, but we gotta get the Butterfly Miraculous off of ya.”

She walked around the trunk to find Louis sitting very, very still. Not struggling, not putting up a fight, just  _ tired _ . If anything, he was scared. “Please.” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “Please, I don’t want to be  _ him _ .”

Joining Carapace in his crouch, Rena Rouge asked, “Can you help us out? If you tell us where the Miraculous is at, we can make sure you never have to be him again.” She looked him up and down for possible hiding spots. He wore a gray beanie, a dark blue quilted jacket that Rena recognized from Marinette’s latest fashion line, laced up hiking boots, and a thousand spots to tuck away a small brooch. 

Louis stuttered, “I-- I--” He groaned. In a flash, searing light enveloped his body, so bright she had to look away. When it faded, Monarch Moth sat in his place. 

Rena had known that the corruption was causing Louis to repeat Hawkmoth’s actions. What she hadn’t realized was that that applied to Monarch’s appearance as well. His suit matched mostly in design, but the sleeves and pant legs extended past his limbs, as if still adjusted for an adult man. Instead of a gray mask that contained his entire head, a simpler, butterfly-shape outlined his eyes, like the purple glow akumatized villains had when talking with their puppetmaster. Reminding her all too much of Adrien’s, his golden hair remained exposed. 

What really got her, though, was his expression. With his neck limp and his eyes vacant, Monarch Moth… it was like he was dead. Rena felt like she was looking at a corpse.

Next to her, Spot’s face paled, and she worried the teen would be sick. Rena remembered that she knew Louis in everyday life. Seeing her friend like this… it couldn’t be pleasant. 

Not wanting to witness the fight against their son, Adrien and Marinette had disappeared into the woods, but approaching footsteps let Rena Rouge know that Lucky was joining them.

“What up!” Lucky called, twigs snapping beneath her feet. “Let’s get this party started!”

Rena glanced backwards and greeted her with a subdued wave. The teen joined Spots, slotting into the space at her side. Only upon seeing Monarch Moth did her pep falter. “Oh God, that is unsettling.”

Monarch looked up at her and stretched his lips wide, baring his teeth. It took several seconds for Rena to realize he was smiling. 

“Hello, everyone.” 

She took back what she said about his expression being the trait that sickened her. As god awful as his lifeless star was, his voice was  _ worse _ . It was distinctly Louis’ voice; no Miraculous magic had corrupted or altered it. If anything, the sound was sweeter than usual, another bird’s croon in the forest air. 

It reminded her of a learning experience she’d had years ago. When Alya had first begun to live on her own, she’d accidentally purchased more milk than she could drink in a timely manner, leaving her with a jug past its expiration date. Despite the warning, she’d eaten a bowl of cereal with it anyway because even if it tasted  _ wrong _ and  _ gross _ and she hadn’t wanted to take another bite of it, it was sweet. If it was rotten, then shouldn’t it have tasted sour? Alya assumed that it was her taste buds misbehaving and not the milk. (The food poisoning she felt hours later corrected her assessment.)

Monarch Moth’s voice’s sweetness reminded her of that milk. It sounded like it should be fine, but something deep in her revolted upon hearing it, shouting that it was  _ wrong _ and  _ unnatural _ and to  _ get away from it right now _ . 

“Hand over your Miraculous,” Spots demanded, her voice shaking almost undetectably.

His approximation of a smile fell, much to Rena’s relief. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“You’re not in much of a position to negotiate,” Lucky reminded darkly. “Search him.”

Rena began patting him down, pulled at his too long sleeves and pants pockets. Monarch continued his sickly drawl, “I don’t know what you’re upset about, at least I wasn’t trying to steal any Miraculouses. Just had a little fun is all.”

She scoffed as she began on his torso. “A little fun? Making people fear their basic human emotions is ‘a little fun?’”

Like a poorly controlled marionette doll, he shrugged jerkingly. “No one likes those feelings anyway; I’m encouraging everyone to avoid them.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rena Rouge registered that he was baiting her. He was trying to upset her as some last stand before defeat. But what he was saying… it was just  _ wrong _ . The same way his voice was, the same way his smile was, his argument was just revoltingly  _ wrong _ .

“Okay, you know what?!” Rena threw her hands down from their patdown. “At least Hawkmoth had the decency to recognize he was doing evil for the sake of making himself happy. You don’t have a motive, you know that you’re just wreaking havoc, so why the  _ fuck _ \--”

She’d noticed her compatriots shifting around her. She’d noticed the sly grin growing on Monarch Moth’s face. But she’d failed to notice the butterfly flitting behind the tree toward his bound hands, and then again to see the akuma swooping down to her Miraculous.

They had thought that by bringing the fight into the woods, they had isolated Monarch away from any potential villains. By transforming into their superhero selves, Rena had assumed that made Carapace and herself safe from akumatization. But even if she didn’t remember transforming due to a hit from Dark Cupid, this form was not safe.

Rena Rage was out to play.

_ A red singe bathed the world. Anger burned at Rena Rage’s skin, undirected but unimpeded. A smooth voice whispered in her mind, the sound of it only impelling her to further fury. “Untie these ropes, would you?” _

_ A sorrowful scream tore through the air, causing her vision to flicker. She knew that voice. Memories of playing board games and cooking in a kitchen with a short blonde girl flickered in her mind.  _

_ The smooth voice pulled at her, telling her “don’t mind that,” reminding her “you are  _ angry _ , you are Rena Rage.” As Rena Rage shook the memories away, she turned around to see three figures before her. They were familiar; more images tickled the edges of her brain. She knew these people, she, she-- _

_ “You are  _ angry _ ,” the voice said. “Do not forget why you are here.” _

_ But she didn’t remember. All she knew was that anger boiled along her skin, and she needed to  _ fight _. _

_ With a hate-filled roar dragged from deep in her gut, Rena Rage swung her fist. The people backed up, the tallest putting a green, scalloped shield between her and them. His face, previously soft and round, hardened. “That’s not Rena anymore,” he warned. The reverb of his voice made it sound like he was underwater.  _

_ Still, she cackled in response. “Of course I am, I’m Rena Rage.” _

_ Rena Rage lashed out, further increasing the distance between the three and… something behind her. She couldn’t remember what  _ it _ was, but she knew she needed to defend  _ it. 

_ The man’s companions were not nearly as determined as him. Their faces had fallen in what she could only call despair, and she could’ve sworn she heard the one with sweeping dark hair whisper, “Not you too,” with the same under-water sound as the man’s.  _

_ Then, with a swing of her flute, the fight began in earnest. With it being three of them versus her singular self, the clash wasn’t entirely fair. No, she, in her flood of flury, was much more powerful.  _

_ They surrounded her, but Rena Rage blocked their attacks and threw her own, landing blows on stomachs and foreheads. While the man came at her with no hesitation, it was almost as if the other two were holding back. They were saying things, calling out to her. Through their syruppy sound, she heard, “Please, Rena, don’t fight us.” _

_ “Push past it, please.” _

_ “ALYA!” _

_ Rena Rage stumbled at the last one. Alya… who was that? They felt like they were at her fingertips, if she could just think a little longer… _

_ “You are  _ angry _. You are Rena Rage” The sound of the sickly sweet voice squeezed her brain back into a small box, erasing the dangerous thoughts from her mind. She was angry, and here to fight.  _

_ Rena Rage threw another punch, and something solidified in the faces of the two girls. They stopped holding back. _

_ It took all of her concentration to defend herself; she was no longer able to attack back. This wasn’t working.  _

_ Rena Rage leaped up to a branch above their heads and placed her flute at her lips. She played an achingly familiar tune that she just couldn’t place, and half a dozen versions of herself glimmered into existence in the tree limbs around her. In unison, all of them leaped down to fight the three enemies. _

_ But this plan was sneakier than just blurring the lines of who was the true enemy. No, while her mirages played keep away, Rena Rage snuck away to… to  _ it. _ To a figure and trunk wrapped in rope.  _

_ “That’s right,” the voice whispered in her mind. “Untie the ropes.” _

_ She tugged at them, cursing at whoever made the knots so tight. Had… had it been her? _

_ “No, you are  _ angry. _ ” _

_ One of her enemies cried out, “She’s gonna free him!” _

_ Someone tackled Rena Rage to the ground, away from the tree, away from the ropes, away from  _ it,  _ but it wasn’t one of the three. No, no no no she  _ needed _ to untie those knots, to free the boy. She kicked her saboteur, a blond man with striking green eyes, off of her. When she tried to race back to  _ it, _ a voice yelled, “Shelter!” A force field formed, throwing her backwards.  _

_ A scream tore its way out of her lungs, and Rena Rage threw herself at the bubble. Over and over. The smooth voice urged her on, “Get to me, get to me, untie the ropes, set me free.” Three figures hovered around her: the blond man who had tackled her, a short woman with dark hair pulled into a bun, and a teenager with the eyes of the man and the hair of the woman. They didn’t stop her efforts to break through the wall, didn’t try to calm her down from her anger _ .

_ What was she angry about again? She didn’t remember. She needed to get through this force field. Everything was painted red. _

_ Beyond the wall, her enemies approached the boy and began searching through his suit. Her immaterial clones were unable to stop them. The small blonde one seemed to gasp, though Rena Rage couldn’t hear it. The girl tugged a small object out from the boy’s jacket, and something snapped in Rena Rage’s mind. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she tasted mud. _

Alya heard voices before she fully regained consciousness. 

“Hey, Louis, we got you.”

“You’re gonna be alright, it’s okay.”

“Wake up, babe, c’mon.”

Alya felt her surroundings before she could see or move. Twigs and dirt clumps dug into her spine; she’d been moved from her slumped position onto her back. A hand curled its fingers around her own, while another gently shook her shoulder. Her unheld fist still clenched around her flute, letting her know she was still transformed into Rena, but her exhaustion kept her from feeling like a superhero.

When Alya finally blinked her eyes open, it took a moment for the world to come into focus. Green clumps blurred together with a blue sky, but another blink let them converge into tree branches bursting with leaves. Closer were two faces that, with a little concentration, focused into Anne Marie and Nino. Unlike her, they had had the time to detransform.

“Hey,” Alya said meekly.

“Hey, Mom.” Anne squeezed her hand with a quick sniffle.

Nino, hands supporting her back, helped her sit up. “I’m glad you’re still with us.”

“Me too.” She smiled lovingly at him. 

Somewhere off to the side, Alya could see the Agrestes having their own family reunion. Though she wasn’t quite conscious enough to process the exact words, she watched them, gathered around a still-propped-against-a-tree Louis, speaking softly to each other. Adrien and Marinette held hands like the affectionate teenagers they still were even years later, and Charlotte had detransformed into her civilian self. Emma sat with them, and somewhere in her mind, Alya recalled that she’d been with her parents at the end of the battle. They must’ve gone and found her after disappearing from the fight, made sure she wasn’t left alone. 

Dropping her flute to the forest floor, Alya pulled Nino and Anne Marie both in for a hug, squeezing tight. The two obliged her easily. “You did it,” she whispered. “I’m so proud.”

Nino laughed, and Alya could feel the vibrations in her own chest. “No more butterfly catching.”

Anne’s sniffs combined with her giggles at the joke. “I’m too happy to be mad at that, how dare you.” She poked him in the side.

“Spent too much time with Adrien, I suppose,” he said with a smile.

Alya soaked in the moment like sunlight, savoring its relief and joy. Even if she’d been akumatized, they’d still made it. They’d taken back the Butterfly Miraculous, ending Monarch Moth’s reign, freeing Louis from its hold. He would be safe. All the people she loved would be safe. She couldn’t have asked for a better ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO EVERYONE WE MADE IT
> 
> All that's left is the epilogue, which is already written. I'll post it tomorrow night after proofreading :) (This week's music rec is Dodie, because I listen to her constantly and how have I not mentioned her yet?? Ridiculous)
> 
> I want to thank everybody who has commented on this fic. Whether it was just once early on or on almost every chapter, you are the reason I've continued with this story. This is literally 6 times longer than anything I've ever written before, and it was your guys' encouragement that got me here. Thank You to everyone who commented, kudosed, or just kept clicking back. 
> 
> Writing this has been a ride like no other. I peeked back at the beginning of the story, and you can see, or at least, I can see, how I've grown as a writer. That's really cool to see, and makes me feel like this journey has been extra worth it. I hope you guys have enjoyed joining me on this journey; I know I have.


	19. Maybe Thank the Villain

_ “One year has passed since Paris’ superheroes first announced Monarch Moth’s defeat. While no evidence of a final battle has ever been found and no culprit caught, the end of akumatizations since then has proven their words’ truth. With no more villains interrupting our daily lives, the superheroes have appeared less and less, only occasionally spotted racing playfully across rooftops around the city….” _

Scrolling through the news site, Alya reread her latest published article, smiling in satisfaction. Miraculous stories were always her favorite to create; they were personal in a way not many other topics were. A glance at her computer’s time display told her it was 4:45pm, meaning she could either twiddle her thumbs for fifteen minutes or get a headstart on the traffic. She chose the latter, but as she packed up her belongings, Sofie gave her a disapproving look from her neighboring desk.

“Heading out already?” she asked primly.

Alya rolled her eyes, smirking good heartedly. “C’mon, it’s a Friday, and I got my stuff done!” Then, she remembered the golden ticket. “Tell your son happy birthday from me, yeah?”

“Oh, well.” Sofie sighed begrudgingly. “I will. Thank you.”

“See ya Monday, Alya!” Justine called, giving an invigorated wave. Shouting their goodbyes, she, Toby, and Leslie were all far less grumpy about Alya’s stolen fifteen minutes.

“Bye everyone, have a good weekend!”

As she walked home, Alya recalled her initial meeting of Spots, how the teen had followed her until breaking into her apartment in order to interrogate her about her Miraculous article. It seemed so long ago, so foreign that Anne Marie wasn’t a fixture in her life. 

Alya’s phone buzzed, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Hey, Marinette! What’s up?”

“Hey, Al.” Interference crackled her voice. “Could you do me a favor? I need to run Emma her  _ Twelfth Night _ script; she left it at home. Could you pick up Louis from the therapist’s? I can text you the address.”

Alya took stock of her surroundings; she was only about five minutes from the apartment. “Of course, girl. I’m almost home, lemme grab the car, and I’ll be on my way.” The answer would have been “yes” regardless of her distance, but she wanted to give a heads up if she would have taken a while.

Marinette sighed gratefully, her relief palpable. “Thank you so much, I hate to leave him waiting, but Emma will chew me out if I don’t drop off her script, and--”

“Hey! Hey,” Alya cut her off, laughing. Marinette really would always be Marinette, huh? “It’s okay, I got you. Let Louis know the plan, and we’re all good.”

She giggled too, if a little subconsciously. “Aye aye, talk to you later, yeah?”

“Absolutely. Bye girl.”

Did Alya and Nino own a car? Yes. Did Alya like to drive said car? Absolutely not. 

That wasn’t entirely fair; it wasn’t the car’s fault. She just didn’t like driving and would travel by any other means when possible. Not out of fear or anxiety, but out of boredom. There was  _ nothing _ entertaining about trying to manage speed, directions, and obstacles all at the same time, and good music could only help so much. So no, she didn’t really enjoy driving.

However, Alya  _ did _ know when it was and was not appropriate to avoid using the car, and picking up her godson meant driving.

With the help of Google Maps, she arrived at a tall, brick building squished between two similarly styled structures. It was rather plain, but Alya supposed that was part of the appeal. Only people who were specifically searching for it would find it; otherwise, their eyes would slide right past. It gave the building an air of privacy. 

She parked alongside the curb. Upon looking up, Alya spotted Louis walking out to her, likely after waiting for her at the entrance. She waved. “Hey, bud! How’s it going?”

“Okay.” He climbed into the passenger’s seat and kept his eyes drilled firmly on the road ahead. 

Louis had always been a quiet kid. The Butterfly Miraculous’ corruption and its hold on him… hadn’t helped this, instead causing him to draw further into himself. Since then, it had been a slow process to lure him back into the world. Even now, Louis retained much of the weariness and grumpiness; therapy was a slow process.

Still, he managed to glance over at her and give a small smile. It was progress.

She smiled back. “Yeah? How’s the set going for the play, your dad said you got to paint some stuff?”

It was nice to see the way his eyes lit up at the mention of set building; he wouldn’t have done that a couple months ago. “We’re painting the stage with some wave designs. It’s kind of a pain, having to cover the whole thing, but...”

They continued to talk until Alya drove up into the Agreste home’s driveway, where she insisted on walking him to the door.

“I’ll be fine--” Louis insisted.

“Nah,” she cut him off. “I need to drop off your mom’s Miraculous anyway.”

After Monarch Moth’s defeat, there had been no conflictual need for Anne Marie to hold onto the Ladybug Miraculous. Missing the kwami she’d had at her side for decades, Marinette had wanted the earrings returned to her, but unfortunately, Anne had also wanted to hold onto her Miraculous. After several weeks of disagreements and stubbornness, the eventually devised a timeshare system. It would’ve reminded Alya of a custody agreement between divorced parents had Tikki not clearly been the parental/mentor figure in both relationships. (Now, had it been Plagg being passed back and forth...)

When she followed Louis into his home, it seemed the same as it normally did. It had the same coordinated-clutter aesthetic, the same driftings of noise from around the house. But up the staircase, only barely visible from her position at the front door, another photograph had been added to the Agreste picture timeline. While Louis ambled off to the kitchen, Alya crept up the staircase to look at it. 

It pictured the same people as all the previous since Louis’ birth: him, Charlotte, Emma, Adrien, and Marinette. Though the final three looked largely the same, just a year older, the first two looked drastically different between the most recent photo and its predecessor. Charlotte had begun transitioning that year: she’d started hormones and growing out her hair. Her dark locks now brushed her rounder jawline, and her body shape had softened. More importantly, she looked more comfortable in her skin; her smile came more easily. Alya had seen the change in real time, and she couldn’t help but be happy for her. Standing on the other side of Adrien, Louis had undergone his own shift. Due to the picturetaking’s timing, last year’s had been taken right before Monarch Moth’s defeat. That meant… well, it captured Louis at his worst. Even with an experienced photographer ensuring everyone looked their best, Alya could see the strain to his grin, the tenseness to his shoulders. Most would write it off as a teenage phase, including Alya under normal circumstances, but knowing the context made all the difference. Compared to the most recent photo, Louis practically glowed. Sure, he didn’t look entirely comfortable in it, but he seemed calmer about the situation. Instead, he leaned into the side of his father, whose arms wrapped around his family. It was  _ growth _ .

Alya’s phone buzzed, pulling her back to reality. Checking the device, she found a text from Nino reminding her to pick up more onions for dinner tomorrow. Apparently, Anne had plans. Alya turned and headed down the stairs, setting the Ladybug Miraculous box down on a side table. As she walked out the front door, she thought to twist her head toward the kitchen, where Louis had wandered off to.

“Remind Charlotte it’s game night, would you?” she called.

Once he shouted back a confirmation, Alya left to pick up onions and then head her own home.

When she entered the door of the apartment, the delicious smell of dinner greeted her. 

“Hey, Anne! I’m home!” she yelled because her daughter was the only explanation for that aroma drifting out from the kitchen.

Poking her head out the door, Anne Marie said, “Chicken noodle soup is ready.”

Grocery bag in hand, Alya followed her to set down the onions on the counter. The pressure cooker, filled with hot stew, sat open next to the sink. Nino stood in front of it to serve himself up. “This looks awesome, Anne.”

She waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I brought back a baguette from the bakery, so you guys can dip that in too.”

Well, Alya didn’t mind if she helped herself to that particular offer. After cutting off some pieces for both herself and the others, she grabbed drinks. “How is your job at the bakery going, anyway?” 

She handed out the cups and bread, then sat down where a bowl of soup waited for her. Anne Marie took a sip of her milk before saying, “It’s going good, feels like I’m learning a lot. M. Dupain and Mme. Cheng are really fun.”

Nino snorted, and when the two girls sent him questioning looks, he explained, “Sorry, just remembering when we asked if they would take you, our daughter, on, but forgot to tell them we had adopted.”

Alya snickered. “Oh my god, they were all ‘did we forget you guys had a kid? What? Huh?”

Adopting Anne Marie had been an exhausting process. Proving her birth mother unfit had been comparatively easy; it had been getting custody instead of throwing her in the system that had been backbreaking. (Explaining their connection when there was no blood relation to Anne had been fun. They couldn’t exactly say “we were her Miraculous mentor figures” in court without giving away Anne’s identity, though in retrospect maybe it would have been easier to prove their trustworthiness had they played the ‘We are Rena Rouge and Carapace’ card. Marinette probably wouldn’t have approved though.) When Alya and Nino finally made her their daughter in the eyes of the law, they’d sort of forgotten to let people outside of their immediate circle about the adoption, leading to hilarious exchanges such as with Marinette’s parents. They’d had more than one encounter where friends had awkwardly asked, “so who is this with you?”

After finishing eating, the three moved back to the kitchen in order to wash the dishes. Their conversation didn’t stop when they drifted to the new location, only flowed with them. Jokes and stories and playful jabs and teasing floated around the room. 

Just as Alya dried the last cup, she heard a key jingle and the front door open. Charlotte’s voice yelled from the room over, “Who’s ready to get their butt whooped at Settlers of Catan?”

“You’re late for dinner!” Nino shouted back, shooting a smile toward Alya and Anne Marie. 

She walked into the kitchen, groaning melodramatically. “Again? Dang, I really thought I was on time for once.” 

Next to Alya, Anne Marie giggled then walked over to her girlfriend to peck her on the cheek. “C’mon, let’s go set up.” She pulled Charlotte into the living room to grab the game box. 

Alya grabbed Nino’s hand and followed them through the archway. 

She remembered when the first akuma had popped up in the supermarket. After helping enact civilian protocol for villain attacks, when she’d been allowed to process, Alya had felt so frustrated at the revival. Upon Hawkmoth’s defeat, she’d been so  _ sure _ that that fight was over, and to have the ripped away had jarred her like nothing else. 

Now though, she realized that her young self had been right. That fight did end that day. Defeating Monarch Moth was a task all on its own, requiring different tactics ( _ theorizing and researching their opponent, only fighting herself a spare few times _ ), placing her in a different role ( _ she was a mentor, not a sidekick _ ), prompting different emotions ( _ Lucky was Emma, Spots was abused, Lucky wasn’t Emma but still an Agreste, Monarch targeted those over thirty, Monarch targeted those akumatized before, Monarch was  _ Louis Agreste, _ her godson _ ). 

Alya watched her family play Settlers of Catan with a soft smile. Even if the fight had been hard, had left scars on them all… she couldn’t help but feel the sight of them joking and scheming and chatting made it worth it. Monarch Moth had brought her family together. She couldn’t have been more grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, welcome to the end. This has been an amazing ride. I covered most of my thanks last chapter, but I just want to reiterate that I am so thankful for each and every one of you. Whether you've been here since chapter 2, or hopped on two weeks ago, or even read this long after I write these end notes, thank you. It was knowing I had people waiting that kept me updating, the encouragement that kept me going. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed reading this, and I'll see you in the Series. As for a song rec...  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Nzy1cfnKh4


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